THE    KING   IN    YELLOW 


BY 


ROBERT    W.    CHAMBERS 

AITTMOR  OF  "  IN  THB  QUAXTBK." 


TENNYSON    NEELT, 
114  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


Nedy's  Prismatic  Librar^r 

GILT  TOP,  50  CENTS. 

"I  know  of  nothing  In  the  book  line  that  equals 
Noely's  Prismatic  Library  for  elegance  and  careful 
selection.  It  sets  a  pace  that  others  will  not  easily 
tqual  aad  noje  surpass. "--E.  A.  ROBINSON. 

SOUR  SAINTS  AND  SWFET  SINNERS. 

By  Carlos  Martyn. 
SEVEN  S3TIL  ES  AND  A  FEW  FIBS. 

Ky    Thorn',*   J.     Vivian.      With   full-page 
illustrations  by  well-known  artists. 
A  MODERN  PROMETHEUS. 

By  E.  Phillips  Oppenhelm. 
THE  SHACKLES  OF  FATE. 

By  Max  Nordau. 
A  BACHELOR  OF  PARIS. 

By  John  W.  Harding.     With  over  BO  il 
lustrations  by   William  Hofacher. 
MONTRESOR.    By  Loota. 
REVERIES  OF  A  SPINSTER. 

./T%5C/0  J&V  Helen  Davies, 

THE  ART  MELODIOUS. 

By  Louis  Lombard. 
THE  HONOR  OF  A  PRINCES*. 

By  F.  Kimball  Scribner. 
OBSERVATIONS  OF  A  BACHELOR. 

By  Louis  Lombard. 
KINGS  IN  ADVERSITY. 

By  E»  S.  Van  Zile. 
NOBLE    BLOOD    AND    A     WEST    POINT 

PARALLEL.    By  Captain  King. 
TRUMPETER  FRED. 

By  Captain  King.  Illustrated, 
FATHER  STAFFORD.  By  Anthony  Hope. 
THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

By  R.  W.  Chambers. 

IN  THE  QUARTER.      By  R.  W.  Chambers. 
A  PROFESSIONAL  LOVER.    By  Gyp. 
BIJOU'S  COURTSHIPS. 

B  i  Gyp.    Illustrated. 
A  CONSPIRACY  OF  THE  CARBONARI. 

By  Loitise  Muhlbach. 
SOAP  BUBBLES.     By  Dr.  Max  Nordau. 


F.TENNYSON    NEELY, 

PUBLISHER, 
NEW  YORK,  LONDON. 


Copyrighted  in  the  United  Statet  and 

Great  Britain  in  MDCCCXCV  by 

F.  Tennyson  Neely. 

All  rights  reserved. 


MAW 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW 
DEDF7ATED 

TO 
MY  B&^THKB. 


540GGG 


CONTENTS. 


MM 

THE  REPAIRER  OF  REPUTATIONS 9 

THE  MASK 57 

THE  COURT  OF  THE  DRAGON 85 

THE  YELLOW  SIGN 99 

THE  DEMOISELLE  o'Ys 131 

THE  PROPHETS'   PARADISE 155 

THE  STREET  OF  THE  FOUR  WINDS 167 

THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL. 179 

THE  STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.  229 
RUE  BARREE. 285 


THE  REPAIRER  OP  REPUTATIONS. 


"Along  the  shore  the  cloud  waves  break, 
The  twin  suas  sink  behind  the  lake. 
The  shadows  lengthen 

In  Carcosa. 

Strange  is  the  night  where  black  stars  rise, 
And  strange  moons  circle  through 
But  stranger  still  is 

Lost  Carcosa, 

Songs  that  the  Hyades  shall  sing, 
Where  flap  the  tatters  of  the  King, 
Must  die  unheard  in 

Dim  Carcosa. 

Song  of  my  soul,  my  voice  is  dead, 
Die  thou,  unsung,  as  tears  unshed 
Shall  dry  and  die  in 

Lost  Carcosa. 


Cassilda's  Song  in  "  The  Kins:  in  Yellow. 
Act  1.    Scene  2. 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  REPUTATIONS. 
I. 

"  Ne  raillons  pas  les  fous ;  leur  folie   dure  plus  longtemps 
que  la  notre  .  .  .  Voila  toute  la  difference." 

JOWARD  the  end  of  the  year  1920  the 
Government  of  the  United  States 
had  practically  completed  the  pro 
gramme,  adopted  during  the  last 
months  of  President  Winthrop's  adminis 
tration.  The  country  was  apparently  tranquil. 
Everybody  knows  how  the  Tariff  and  Labor 
questions  were  settled.  The  war  with  Ger 
many,  incident  on  that  country's  seizure  of  the 
Samoan  Islands,  had  left  no  visible  scars 
upon  the  republic,  and  the  temporary  occu 
pation  of  Norfolk  by  the  invading  army  had 
been  forgotten  in  the  joy  over  repeated  naval 
victories  and  the  subsequent  ridiculous  plight 
of  General  Von  Gartenlaube's  forces  in  the 
State  of  New  Jersey.  The  Cuban  and  Ha 
waiian  investments  had  paid  one  hundred  per 
cent,  and  the  territory  of  Samoa  was  well 
worth  its  cost  as  a  coaling  station.  The 
country  was  in  a  superb  state  of  defence. 
Every  coast  city  had  been  well  supplied  with 
land  fortifications  ;  the  army  under  the  pa 
rental  eye  of  the  General  Staff,  organized  ac 
cording  to  the  Prussian  system,  had  been  in 
creased  to  300,000  men  with  a  territorial  re 
serve  of  a  million  ;  and  six  magnificent  squad- 


>  tot          . ;  pft&KiM*  isr  YELLOW. 

rons  of  cruisers  and  battle-ships  patrolled  the 
six  stations  of  the  navigable  seas,  leaving  a 
steam  reserve  amply  fitted  to  control  home 
waters.  The  gentlemen  from  the  West  had 
at  last  been  constrained  to  acknowledge  that 
a  college  for  the  training  of  diplomats  was  as 
necessary  as  law  schools  are  for  the  training 
of  barristers  ;  consequently  we  were  no 
longer  represented  abroad  by  incompetent  pa 
triots.  The  nation  was  prosperous.  Chicago, 
for  a  moment  paralyzed  after  a  second  great 
fire,  had  risen  from  its  ruins,  white  and  im 
perial,  and  more  beautiful  than  the  white  city 
which  had  been  built  for  its  plaything  in  1893. 
Everywhere  good  architecture  was  replacing 
bad,  and  even  in  New  York,  a  sudden  craving 
for  decency  had  swept  away  a  great  portion 
of  the  existing  horrors.  Streets  had  been 
widened,  properly  paved  and  lighted,  trees 
had  been  planted,  squares  laid  out,  elevated 
structures  demolished  and  underground  roads 
built  to  replace  them.  The  new  government 
buildings  and  barracks  were  fine  bits  of  archi 
tecture,  and  the  long  system  of  stone  quays 
which  completely  surrounded  the  island  had 
been  turned  into  parks  wrhich  proved  a  god 
send  to  the  population.  The  subsidizing  of 
the  state  theatre  and  state  opera  brought  its 
own  reward.  The  United  States  National 
Academy  of  Design  was  much  like  European 
institutions  of  the  same  kind.  Nobody  en 
vied  the  Secretary  of -Fine  Arts,  either  his 
cabinet  position  or  his  portfolio.  The  Secre 
tary  of  Forrestry  and  Game  Preservation  had 
a  much  easier  time,  thanks  to  the  new  system 
of  National  Mounted  Police.  We  had  profited 
well  by  the  latest  treaties  with  France  and 
England  ;  the  exclusion  of  loreign-born  Jew* 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  REPUTATIONS.        jj 

as  a  measure  of  national  self-preservation^ 
the  settlement  of  the  new  independent  negro 
state  of  Suanee,  the  checking  of  immigration, 
the  new  laws  concerning  naturalization,  and 
the  gradual  centralization  of  power  in  the  ex 
ecutive  all  contributed  to  national  calm  and 
prosperity.  When  the  Government  solved  the 
Indian  problem  and  squadrons  of  Indian 
cavalry  scouts  in  native  costume  were  substi 
tuted  for  the  pitiable  organizations  tacked  on 
to  the  tail  of  skeletonized  regiments  by  a  former 
Secretary  of  War,  the  nation  drew  a  long 
sigh  of  relief.  When,  after  the  colossal  Con 
gress  of  Religions,  bigotry  and  intolerance 
were  laid  in  their  graves  and  kindness  and 
charity  began  to  draw  warring  sects  together, 
many  thought  the  millennium  had  arrived,  at 
least  in  the  new  world,  which  after  all  is  a 
•world  by  itself. 

But  self-preservation  is  the  first  law,  and  the 
United  States  had  to  look  on  in  helpless  sorrow 
as  Germany,  Italy,  Spain  and  Belgium  writhed 
in  the  throes  of  Anarchy,  while  Russia,  watch 
ing  from  the  Caucasus,  stooped  and  bound 
them  one  by  one. 

In  the  city  of  New  York  the  summer  of  1 899 
was  signalized  by  the  dismantling  of  the 
Elevated  Railroads.  The  summer  of  1900 
will  live  in  the  memories  of  New  York  people 
for  many  a  cycle  ;  the  Dodge  Statue  was  re 
moved  in  that  year.  In  the  following  winter 
began  that  agitation  for  the  repeal  of  the  laws 
prohibiting  suicide  which  bore  its  final  fruit  in 
the  month  of  April,  1920,  when  the  first  Govern 
ment  Lethal  Chamber  was  opened  on  Washing 
ton  Square. 

I  had  walked  down  that  day  from  Dr. 
Archer's  house  on  Madison  Avenue,  where  I 


12 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


had  been  as  a  mere  formality.  Ever  since 
that  fall  from  my  horse,  four  years  before,  I 
had  been  troubled  at  times  with  pains  in  the 
back  of  my  head  and  neck,  but  now  for  months 
they  had  been  absent,  and  the  doctor  sent  me 
away  that  day  saying  there  was  nothing  more 
to  be  cured  in  me.  It  was  hardly  worth  his 
fee  to  be  told  that  ;  I  knew  it  myself.  Still  I 
did  not  grudge  him  the  money.  What  I  minded 
was  the  mistake  which  he  made  at  first. 
When  they  picked  me  up  from  the  pavement 
where  I  lay  unconscious,  and  somebody  had 
mercifully  sent  a  bullet  through  my  horse's 
head,  I  was  carried  to  Doctor  Archer,  and 
he,  pronouncing  my  brain  affected,  placed  me 
in  his  private  asylum  where  I  was  obliged  to 
endure  treatment  for  insanity.  At  last  he 
decided  that  I  was  well,  and  I,  knowing  that 
my  mind  had  always  been  as  sound  as  his,  if 
not  sounder,  "  paid  my  tuition  "  as  he  jokingly 
called  it,  and  left.  I  told  him,  smiling,  that 
I  would  get  even  with  him  for  his  mistake,  and 
he  laughed  heartily,  and  asked  me  to  call 
once  in  a  while.  I  did  so,  hoping  for  a  chance 
to  even  up  accounts,  but  he  gave  me  none, 
and  I  told  him  I  would  wait. 

The  fall  from  my  horse  had  fortunately  left 
no  evil  results  ;  on  the  contrary  it  had  changed 
my  whole  character  for  the  better.  From  a 
lazy  young  man  about  town,  I  had  become 
active,  energetic,  temperate,  and  above  all — 
oh,  above  all  else — ambitious.  There  was 
only  one  thing  which  troubled  me,  I  laughed 
at  my  own  uneasiness,  and  yet  it  troubled  me. 

During  my  convalescence  I  had  bought  and 
read  for  the  first  time,  "  The  King  in  Yellow." 
I  remember  after  finishing  the  first  act  that  it 
occurred  to  me  that  I  had  better  stop.  1 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  REPUTA  TIONS.        j£ 

started  up  and  flung  the  book  into  the  fire 
place  ;  the  volume  struck  the  barred  grate  and 
fell  open  on  the  hearth  in  the  fire-light.  If  T 
had  not  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  opening 
words  in  the  second  act  I  should  never  have 
finished  it,  but  as  I  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  my 
eyes  became  riveted  to  the  open  page,  and 
with  a  cry  of  terror,  or  perhaps  it  was  of  joy 
so  poignant  that  I  suffered  in  every  nerve,  I 
snatched  the  thing  out  of  the  coals  and  crept 
shaking  to  my  bedroom,  where  I  read  it  and 
reread  it,  and  wept  and  laughed  and  trembled 
with  a  horror  which  at  times  assails  me  yet. 
This  is  the  thing  that  troubles  me,  for  I  can 
not  forget  Carcosa  where  black  stars  hang  in 
the  heavens  ;  where  the  shadows  of  men's 
thoughts  lengthen  in  the  afternoon,  when  the 
twin  suns  sink  into  the  Lake  of  Hali ;  and  my 
mind  will  bear  forever  the  memory  of  the 
Pallid  Mask.  I  pray  God  will  curse  the  writer, 
as  the  writer  has  cursed  the  world  with  this 
beautiful,  stupendous  creation,  terrible  in 
its  simplicity,  irresistible  in  its  truth — a 
world  which  now  trembles  before  the  King 
in  Yellow.  When  the  French  Government 
seized  the  translated  copies  which  had  just 
arrived  in  Paris,  London,  of  course,  be 
came  eager  to  read  it.  It  is  well  known  how 
the  book  spread  like  an  infectious  disease, 
from  city  to  city,  from  continent  to  continent, 
barred  out  here,  confiscated  there,  denounced 
by  press  and  pulpit,  censured  even  by  the 
most  advanced  of  literary  anarchists.  No 
definite  principles  had  been  violated  in  those 
wicked  pages,  no  doctrine  promulgated,  no 
convictions  outraged.  It  could  not  be  judged 
by  any  known  standard,  yet,  although  it  was 
acknowledged  that  the  supreme  note  of  art 


j^  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

had  been  struck  in  "  The  King  in  Yellow,"  all 
felt  that  human  nature  could  not  bear  the 
strain,  nor  thrive  on  words  in  which  the 
essence  of  purest  poison  lurked.  The  very 
banality  and  innocence  of  the  first  act  only 
allowed  the  blow  to  fall  afterward  with  more 
awful  effect. 

It  was,  I  remember,  the  I3th  day  of  April, 
1920,  that  the  first  Government  Lethal  Cham 
ber  was  established  on  the  south  side  of 
Washington  Square,  between  Wooster  Street 
and  South  Fifth  Avenue.  The  block  which 
had  formerly  consisted  of  a  lot  of  shabby  old 
buildings,  used  as  care's  and  restaurants  for 
foreigners,  had  been  acquired  by  the  Govern 
ment  in  the  winter  of  1898.  The  French  and 
Italian  cafe's  and  restaurants  were  torn  down  ; 
the  whole  block  was  enclosed  by  a  gilded 
iron  railing,  and  converted  into  a  lovely  gar 
den  with  lawns,  flowers  and  fountains.  In 
the  centre  of  the  garden  stood  a  small,  white 
building,  severely  classical  in  architecture, 
and  surrounded  by  thickets  of  flowers.  Six 
Ionic  columns  supported  the  roof,  and  the 
single  door  was  of  bronze.  A  splendid  mar 
ble  group  of  "  The  Fates  "  stood  before  the 
door,  the  work  of  a  young  American  sculptor, 
Boris  Yvain,  who  had  died  in  Paris  when  only 
twenty-three  years  old. 

The  inauguration  ceremonies  were  in  prog 
ress  as  I  crossed  University  Place  and  en 
tered  the  square.  I  threaded  my  way  through 
the  silent  throng  of  spectators,  but  was 
stopped  at  Fourth  Street  by  a  cordon  of  police. 
A  regiment  of  United  States  lancers  were 
drawn  up  in  a  hollow  square  around  the 
Lethal  Chamber.  On  a  raised  tribune  facing 
Washington  Park  stood  the  Governor  of  New 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS.        j^ 

York,  and  behind  him  were  grouped  the  Mayor 
of  New  York  and  Brooklyn,  the  Inspector- 
General  of  Police,  the  Commandant  of  the 
state  troops,  Colonel  Livingston,  military  aid 
to  the  President  of  the  United  States,  General 
Blount,  commanding  at  Governor's  Island, 
Major-General  Hamilton,  commanding  the 
garrison  of  New  York  and  Brooklyn,  Admiral 
Buftby  of  the  fleet  in  the  North  River,  Surgeon 
General  Lanceford,  the  staff  of  the  National 
Free  Hospital,  Senators  Wyse  and  Franklin 
of  New  York,  and  the  Commissioner  of  Public 
Works.  The  tribune  was  surrounded  by  a 
squadron  of  hussars  of  the  National  Guard. 

The  Governor  was  finishing  his  reply  to  the 
short  speech  of  the  Surgeon-General.  I  heard 
him  say  :  "  The  laws  prohibiting  suicide  and 
providing  punishment  for  any  attempt  at  self- 
destruction  have  been  repealed.  The  Govern 
ment  has  seen  fit  to  acknowledge  the  right  of 
man  to  end  an  existence  which  may  have 
become  intolerable  to  him,  through  physical 
suffering  or  mental  despair.  It  is  believed 
that  the  community  will  be  benefited  by  the 
removal  of  such  people  from  their  midst. 
Since  the  passage  of  this  law,  the  number  of 
suicides  in  the  United  States  has  not  increased. 
Now  that  the  Government  has  determined  to 
establish  a  Lethal  Chamber  in  every  city, 
town  and  village  in  the  country,  it  remains  to 
be  seen  whether  or  not  that  class  of  human 
creatures  from  whose  desponding  ranks  new 
victims  of  self-destruction  fall  daily  will  ac» 
cept  the  relief  thus  provided."  He  paused, 
and  turned  to  the  white  Lethal  Chamber. 
The  silence  in  the  street  was  absolute. 
*'  There  a  painless  death  awaits  him  who  can 
no  longer  bear  the  sorrows  of  this  life.  If 


j(5  THE  KING  IN"  YELLOW. 

death  is  welcome  let  him  seek  it  there."  Then 
quickly  turning  to  the  military  aid  of  the 
President's  household,  he  said,  "I  declare  the 
Lethal  Chamber  open,"  and  again  facing  the 
vast  crowd  he  cried  in  a  clear  voice  :  "  Citizens 
of  New  York  and  of  the  United  States  of 
America,  through  me  the  Government  de 
clares  the  Lethal  Chamber  to  be  open." 

The  solemn  hush  was  broken  by  a  sharp 
cry  of  command,  the  squadron  of  hussars 
filed  after  the  Governor's  carriage,  the  lancers 
wheeled  and  formed  along  Fifth  Avenue  to 
wait  for  the  commandant  of  the  garrison,  and 
the  mounted  police  followed  them.  I  left  the 
crowd  to  gape  and  stare  at  the  white  marble 
Death  Chamber,  and,  crossing  South  Fitth 
Avenue,  walked  along  the  western  side  of 
that  thoroughfare  to  Bleecker  Street.  Then  I 
turned  to  the  right  and  stopped  before  a 
dingy  shop  which  bore  the  sign, 

HAWBERK,  ARMORER. 

I  glanced  in  at  the  doorway  and  saw  Haw- 
berk  busy  in  his  little  shop  at  the  end  of  the 
hall.  He  looked  up,  and  catching  sight  of 
me  cried  in  his  deep,  hearty  voice,  "Come  in, 
Mr.  Castaigne  !  "  Constance,  his  daughter, 
rose  to  meet  me  as  I  crossed  the  threshold, 
and  held  out  her  pretty  hand,  but  I  saw  the 
blush  of  disappointment  on  her  cheeks,  and 
knew  that  it  was  another  Castaigne  she  had 
expected,  my  Cousin  Louis.  I  smiled  at  her 
confusion  and  complimented  her  on  the  ban 
ner  which  she  was  embroidering  from  a 
colored  plate.  Old  Hawberk  sat  riveting  the 
worn  greaves  of  some  ancient  suit  of  armor, 
and  the  ting  !  ting  !  ting  !  of  his  little  hammer 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS.        j- 

sounded  pleasantly  in  the  quaint  shop.  Pres 
ently  he  dropped  his  hammer,  and  fussed 
about  for  a  moment  with  a  tiny  wrench.  The 
soft  clash  of  the  mail  sent  a  thrill  of  pleasure 
through  me.  I  loved  to  hear  the  music  of 
steel  brushing  against  steel,  the  mellow 
shock  of  the  mallet  on  thigh  pieces,  and 
the  jingle  of  chain  armor.  That  was  the 
only  reason  I  went  to  see  Hawberk.  He 
had  never  interested  me  personally,  nor  did 
Constance,  except  for  the  fact  of  her  being  in 
love  with  Louis.  This  did  occupy  my  atten 
tion,  and  sometimes  even  kept  me  awake  at 
night.  But  I  knew  in  my  heart  that  all  would 
come  right,  and  that  I  should  arrange  their 
future  as  I  expected  to  arrange  that  of  my 
kind  doctor,  John  Archer.  However,  I  should 
never  have  troubled  myself  about  visiting 
them  just  then,  had  it  not  been,  as  I  say,  that 
the  music  of  the  tinkling  hammer  had  for  me 
this  strong  fascination.  I  would  sit  for  hours, 
listening  and  listening,  and  when  a  stray  sun 
beam  struck  the  inlaid  steel,  the  sensation  it 
gave  me  was  almost  too  keen  to  endure.  My 
eyes  would  become  fixed,  dilating  with  a 
pleasure  that  stretched  every  nerve  almost  to 
breaking,  until  some  movement  of  the  old 
armorer  cut  off  the  ray  of  sunlight,  then,  still 
thrilling  secretly,  I  leaned  back  and  listened 
again  to  the  sound  of  the  polishing  rag, 
swish  !  swish  !  rubbing  rust  from  the  rivets. 

Constance  worked  with  the  embroidery 
over  her  knees,  now  and  then  pausing  to  ex 
amine  more  closely  the  pattern  in  the  colored 
plate  from  the  Metropolitan  Museum. 

"  Who  is  this  for  ?  "  I  asked. 

Hawberk  explained,  that  in  addition  to  the 
treasures  of  armor  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum 


jg  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

of  which  he  had  been  appointed  armorer,  he 
also  had  charge  of  several  collections  belong, 
ing  to  rich  amateurs.  This  was  the  missing 
greave  of  a  famous  suit  which  a  client  of  his 
had  traced  to  a  little  shop  in  Paris  on  the  Quai 
d'Orsay.  He,  Hawberk,  had  negotiated  for 
and  secured  the  greave,  and  now  the  suit  was 
complete.  He  laid  down  his  hammer  and 
read  me  the  history  of  the  suit,  traced  since 
1450  from  owner  to  owner  until  it  was  ac 
quired  by  Thomas  Stainbridge.  When  his 
superb  collection  was  sold,  this  client  of  Haw- 
berk's  bought  the  suit,  and  since  then  the 
search  for  the  missing  greave  had  been 
pushed  until  it  was,  almost  by  accident,  located 
in  Paris. 

"  Did  you  continue  the  search  so  per 
sistently  without  any  certainty  of  the  greave 
being  still  in  existence  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"Of  course,"  he  replied  coolly. 

Then  for  the  first  time  I  took  a  personal 
interest  in  Hawberk. 

"  It  was  worth  something  to  you,"  I  ven 
tured. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  laughing,  "  my  pleasure 
in  finding  it  was  my  reward." 

"  Have  you  no  ambition  to  be  rich  ?  "  I 
asked  smiling. 

"  My  one  ambition  is  to  be  the  best  armorer 
in  the  world,"  he  answered  gravely. 

Constance  asked  me  if  I  had  seen  the 
ceremonies  at  the  Lethal  Chamber.  She  her 
self  had  noticed  cavalry  passing  up  Broadway 
that  morning,  and  had  wished  to  see  the  in 
auguration,  but  her  father  wanted  the  banner 
finished,  and  she  had  stayed  at  his  request. 

"  Did  you  see  your  cousin,  Mr.  Castaigne, 
there  ? "  she  asked,  with  the  slighest  tremor 
of  her  soft  eyelashes. 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  REPUTATIONS,        I(> 

**  No,"  I  replied  carelessly.  "  Louis'  regi 
ment  is  manoeuvring  out  in  Westchester 
County."  I  rose  and  picked  up  my  hat  and  cane. 

"Are  you  going  upstairs  to  see  the  lunatic 
again  ?  "  laughed  old  Hawberk.  If  Hawberk 
knew  how  I  loathe  that  word  "lunatic,"  he 
would  never  use  it  in  my  presence.  It  rouses 
certain  feelings  within  me  which  I  do  not  care 
to  explain.  However,  I  answered  him  quietly  : 
"  I  think  I  shall  drop  in  and  see  Mr.  Wilde 
for  a  moment  or  two." 

"  Poor  fellow,"  said  Constance,  with  a  shake 
of  her  head,  "  it  must  be  hard  to  live 
alone  year  after  year,  poor,  crippled  and 
almost  demented.  It  is  very  good  of  you,  Mr. 
Castaigne,  to  visit  him  as  often  as  you  do." 

"  I  think  he  is  vicious,"  observed  Hawberk, 
beginning  again  with  his  hammer.  I  listened 
to  the  golden  tinkle  on  the  greave  plates  ; 
when  he  had  finished  I  replied : 

"  No,  he  is  not  vicious,  nor  is  he  in  the 
least  demented.  His  mind  is  a  wonder 
chamber,  from  which  he  can  extract  treasures 
that  you  and  I  would  give  years  of  our  lives 
to  acquire." 

Hawberk  laughed. 

I  continued  a  little  impatiently  :  "  He  knows 
history  as  no  one  else  could  know  it.  Nothing, 
however  trivial,  escapes  his  search,  and  his 
memory  is  so  absolute,  so  precise  in  details, 
that  were  it  known  in  New  York  that  such  a 
man  existed,  the  people  could  not  honor  him 
enough." 

"  Nonsense,"  muttered  Hawberk,  searching 
on  the  floor  for  a  fallen  rivet. 

"  Is  it  nonsense,"  I  asked,  managing  to  sup 
press  what  I  felt,  "  is  it  nonsense  when  he  says 
that  the  tassets  and  cuissards  of  the  enamelled 


2O  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

suit  of  armor  commonly  known  as  the 
« Prince's  Emblazoned '  can  be  found  among 
a  mass  of  rusty  theatrical  properties,  broken 
stoves  and  ragpicker's  refuse  in  a  garret  in 
Pell  Street  ?  " 

Hawberk's  hammer  fell  to  the  ground,  but 
he  picked  it  up  and  asked,  with  a  great  deal 
of  calm,  how  I  knew  that  the  tassets  and  left 
cuissard  were  missing  from  the  "  Prince's 
Emblazoned." 

"  I  did  not  know  until  Mr.  Wilde  mentioned 
it  to  me  the  other  day.  He  said  they  were  in 
the  garret  of  998  Pell  Street." 

«'  Nonsense,"  he  cried,  but  I  noticed  his 
hand  trembling  under  his  leathern  apron. 

"  Is  this  nonsense  too  ?  "  I  asked  pleasantly. 
"  is  it  nonsense  when  Mr.  Wilde  continually 
speaks  of  you  as  the  Marquis  of  Avonshireand 
of  Miss  Constance 

I  did  not  finish,  for  Constance  had  started  to 
her  feet  with  terror  written  on  every  feature. 
Hawberk  looked  at  me  and  slowly  smoothed 
his  leathern  apron.  "  That  is  impossible," 
he  observed,  "  Mr.  Wilde  may  know  a  great 
many  things " 

"  About  armor,  lor  instance,  and  the 
•  Prince's  Emblazoned,'  "  I  interposed,  smiling. 

«'  Yes,"  he  continued,  slowly,  "  about  armor 
ako — may  be — but  he  is  wrong  in  regard  to 
the  Marquis  of  Avonshire,  who,  as  you  know, 
killed  his  wife's  traducer  years  ago,  and  went 
to  Australia  where  he  did  not  long  survive 
his  wife." 

"  Mr.  Wilde  is  wrong,"  murmured  Con- 
stance.  Her  lips  were  blanched  but  her  voice 
was  sweet  and  calm. 

"  Let  us  agree,  if  you  please,  that  in  this 
one  circumstance  Mr.  Wilde  is  wrong,"  J  said. 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  REPUTA  TIONS.        2  j 


II. 

CLIMBED  the  three  dilapidated 
flights  of  stairs,  which  I  had  so  often 
climbed  before,  and  knocked  at  a 
small  door  at  the  end  of  the  corridor. 
Mr.  Wilde  opened  the  door  and  I  walked  in. 
When  he  had  double-locked  the  door  and 
pushed  a  heavy  chest  against  it,  he  came  and 
sat  down  beside  me,  peering  up  into  my  face 
with  his  little  light-colored  eyes.  Half  a  dozen 
new  scratches  covered  his  nose  and  cheeks, 
and  the  silver  wires  which  supported  his  arti 
ficial  ears  had  become  displaced.  I  thought 
I  had  never  seen  him  so  hideously  fascinating. 
He  had  no  ears.  The  artificial  ones,  which 
now  stood  out  at  an  angle  from  the  fine  wire, 
were  his  one  weakness.  They  were  made  of  wax 
and  painted  a  shell  pink,  but  the  rest  of  his  face 
was  yellow.  He  might  better  have  revelled 
in  the  luxury  of  some  artificial  fingers  for  his 
left  hand,  which  was  absolutely  fingerless,  but 
it  seemed  to  cause  him  no  inconvenience,  and 
he  was  satisfied  with  his  wax  ears.  He  was 
very  small,  scarcely  higher  than  a  child  often, 
but  his  arms  were  magnificently  developed, 
and  his  thighs  as  thick  as  any  athlete's.  Still, 
the  most  remarkable  thing  about  Mr.  Wilde 
was  that  a  man  of  his  marvellous  intelligence 
and  knowledge  should  have  such  a  head.  It 
was  flat  and  pointed,  like  the  heads  of  many 
of  those  unfortunates  whom  people  imprison 
in  asylums  for  the  weak-minded.  Many  called 


22  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

him  insane  but  I  knew  him  to  be  as  sane  as  I 
was. 

I  do  not  deny  that  he  was  eccentric  ;  the 
mania  he  had  for  keeping  that  cat  and  teasing 
her  until  she  flew  at  his  face  like  a  demon, 
was  certainly  eccentric.  I  never  could  under 
stand  why  he  kept  the  creature,  nor  what 
pleasure  he  found  in  shutting  himself  up  in  his 
room  with  the  surly,  vicious  beast.  I  remem 
ber  once,  glancing  up  from  the  manuscript  I 
was  studying  by  the  light  of  some  tallow  dips, 
and  seeing  Mr.  Wilde  squatting  motionless  on 
his  high  chair,  his  eyes  -fairly  blazing  with  ex 
citement,  while  the  cat,  which  had  risen  from 
her  place  before  the  stove,  came  creeping 
across  the  floor  right  at  him.  Before  I  could 
move  she  flattened  her  belly  to  the  ground, 
crouched,  trembled,  and  sprang  into  his  face. 
Howling  and  foaming  they  rolled  over  and 
over  on  the  floor,  scratching  and  clawing, 
until  the  cat  screamed  and  fled  under  the 
cabinet,  and  Mr.  Wilde  turned  over  on  his 
back,  his  limbs  contracting  and  curling  up 
like  the  legs  of  a  dying  spider.  He  was 
eccentric. 

Mr.  Wilde  had  climbed  into  his  high  chair, 
and,  after  studying  my  face,  picked  up  a  dog's- 
eared  ledger  and  opened  it. 

"  Henry  B.  Matthews,"  he  read,  "  book 
keeper  with  Whysot  Whysot  and  Company, 
dealers  in  church  ornaments.  Called  April 
3d.  Reputation  damaged  on  the  race-track. 
Known  as  a  welcher.  Reputation  to  be  re 
paired  by  August  ist.  Retainer  Five  Dol 
lars."  He  turned  the  page  and  ran  his  fin- 
gerless  knuckles  down  the  closely-written 
columns. 

"  P.  Greene   Dusenberry,   Minister    of  the 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  REPUTA  TIONS.        2^ 

Gospel,  Fairbeach,  New  Jersey.  Reputation 
damaged  in  the  Bowery.  To  be  repaired  as 
soon  as  possible.  Retainer  $100. 

He  coughed  and  added,  "  Called,  April 
6th." 

"  Then  you  are  not  in  need  of  money,  Mr. 
Wilde,"  I  inquired. 

"  Listen,"  he  coughed  again. 

"  Mrs.  C.  Hamilton  Chester,  of  Chester 
Park,  New  York  City,  Called  April  7th.  Rep 
utation  damaged  at  Dieppe,  France.  To  be 
repaired  by  October  ist.  Retainer  $500. 

"  Note. — C.  Hamilton  Chester,  Captain  U. 
S.  S.  «  Avalanche  '  ordered  home  from  South- 
Sea  Squadron  October  ist." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "the  profession  of  a  Re 
pairer  of  Reputations  is  lucrative.'' 

His  colorless  eyes  sought  mine.  "  I  only 
wanted  to  demonstrate  that  I  was  correct.  You 
said  it  was  impossible  to  succeed  as  a  Repairer 
of  Reputations  ;  that  even  if  I  did  succeed  in 
certain  cases  it  would  cost  me  more  than  I 
would  gain  by  it.  To-day  I  have  five  hundred 
men  in  my  employ,  who  are  poorly  paid,  but 
who  pursue  the  work  with  an  enthusiasm 
which  possibly  may  be  born  of  fear.  These 
men  enter  every  shade  and  grade  of  society  ; 
some  even  are  pillars  of  the  most  exclusive 
social  temples  ;  others  are  the  prop  and  pride 
of  the  financial  world  ;  still  others,  hold  un 
disputed  sway  among  the  '  Fancy  and  the 
Talent.'  I  choose  them  at  my  leisure  from 
those  who  reply  to  my  advertisements.  It  is 
easy  enough,  they  are  all  cowards.  I  could 
treble  the  number  in  twenty  days  if  I  wished. 
So  you  see,  those  who  have  in  their  keeping 
the  reputations  of  their  fellow-citizens,  /have 
in  my  pay." 


24  THE  KING  IN  YELLOIV. 

"  They  may  turn  on  you,"  I  suggested. 

He  rubbed  his  thumb  over  his  cropped  ears, 
and  adjusted  the  wax  substitutes.  "I  think 
not,"  he  murmured  thoughtfully,  ««  I  seldom 
have  to  apply  the  whip,  and  then  only  once. 
Besides  they  like  their  wages." 

"  How  do  you  apply  the  whip  ?  "  I  de 
manded. 

His  face  for  a  moment  was  awful  to  look 
upon.  His  eyes  dwindled  to  a  pair  of  green 
sparks. 

"  I  invite  them  to  come  and  have  a  little 
chat  with  me,"  he  said  in  a  soft  voice. 

A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  him,  and 
his  face  resumed  its  amiable  expression. 

"Who  is  it  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Mr.  Steylette,"  was  the  answer. 

"Come  to-morrow,"  replied  Mr.  Wilde. 

"  Impossible,"  began  the  other,  but  was 
silenced  by  a  sort  of  bark  from  Mr.  Wilde. 

"  Come  to-morrow,"  he  repeated. 

We  heard  somebody  move  away  from  the 
door  and  turn  the  corner  by  the  stairway. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Arnold  Steylette,  Owner  and  Editor  in 
Chief  of  the  great  New  York  daily." 

He  drummed  on  the  ledger  with  his  finger- 
less  hand  adding:  "  I  pay  him  very  badly,  but 
he  thinks  it  a  good  bargain." 

"  Arnold  Steylette  !  "  I  repeated  amazed. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Wilde  with  a  self-satisfied 
•cough. 

The  cat,  which  had  entered  the  room  as  he 
:spoke,  hesitated,  looked  up  at  him  and  snarled. 
He  climbed  down  from  the  chair  and  squat 
ting  on  the  floor,  took  the  creature  into  his 
arms  and  caressed  her.  The  cat  ceased 
snarling  and  presently  began  a  loud  purring 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS.        2£ 

which   seemed   to   increase  in    timbre  as    he 
stroked  her. 

«•  Where  are  the  notes  ?  "  I  asked.  He 
pointed  to  the  table,  and  for  the  hundredth 
time  I  picked  up  the  bundle  of  manuscript 
entitled 

••  THE  IMPERIAL  DYNASTY  OF  AMER 
ICA." 

One  by  one  I  studied  the  well-worn  pages, 
worn  only  by  my  own  handling,  and  although 
I  knew  all  by  heart,  from  the  beginning, 
41  When  from  Carcosa,  the  Hyades,  Hastur, 
and  Aldebaran,"  to  "Castaigne,  Louis  de  Cal 
vados,  born  December  igth,  1877,"  I  read  it 
with  an  eager  rapt  attention,  pausing  to  re 
peat  parts  of  it  aloud,  and  dwelling  especially 
on  "  Hildred  de  Calvados,  only  son  of  Hildred 
Castaigne  and  Edythe  Landes  Castaigne,  first 
in  succession,"  etc.,  etc. 

When  I  finished,  Mr.  Wilde  nodded  and 
coughed. 

"  Speaking  of  your  legitimate  ambition,"  he 
said,  "  how  do  Constance  and  Louis  get 
along  ?  " 

"  She  loves  him,"  I  replied  simply. 

The  cat  on  his  knee  suddenly  turned  and 
struck  at  his  eyes,  and  he  flung  her  off  and 
climbed  on  to  the  chair  opposite  me. 

"  And  Doctor  Archer  !  But  that's  a  mat 
ter  you  can  settle  any  time  you  wish,"  he 
added. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  Doctor  Archer  can  wait, 
but  it  is  time  I  saw  my  cousin  Louis." 

"  It  is  ti«ne,"  he  repeated.  Then  he  took 
another  ledger  from  the  table  and  ran  over 
the  leaves  rapidly. 


2 5  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

«'  We  are  now  in  communication  with  ten 
thousand  men,"  he  muttered.  •«  We  can 
count  on  one  hundred  thousand  within  the 
first  twenty-eight  hours,  and  in  forty-eight 
hours  the  state  will  rise  en  masse.  The  coun 
try  follows  the  state,  and  the  portion  that  will 
not,  I  mean  California  and  the  Northwest, 
might  better  never  have  been  inhabited.  I 
shall  not  send  them  the  Yellow  Sign." 

The  blood  rushed  to  my  head,  but  I  only 
answered,  "  A  new  broom  sweeps  clean." 

"  The  ambition  of  Cassar  and  of  Napoleon 
pales  before  that  which  could  not  rest  until  it 
had  seized  the  minds  of  men  and  controlled 
even  their  unborn  thoughts,"  said  Mr.  Wilde. 

"  You  are  speaking  of  the  King  in  Yellow," 
I  groaned  with  a  shudder. 

'«  He  is  a  king  whom  Emperors  have 
served." 

"  I  am  content  to  serve  him,"  I  replied. 

Mr.  Wilde  sat  rubbing  his  ears  with  his 
crippled  hand.  "  Perhaps  Constance  does  not 
love  him,"  he  suggested. 

I  started  to  reply,  but  a  sudden  burst  of 
military  music  from  the  street  below  drowned 
my  voice.  The  twentieth  dragoon  regiment, 
formerly  in  garrison  at  Mount  St.  Vincent, 
was  returning  from  the  manoeuvres  in  West- 
chester  County,  to  its  new  barracks  on  East 
Washington  Square.  It  was  my  cousin's 
regiment.  They  were  a  fine  lot  of  fellows,  in 
their  pale-blue,  tight-fitting  jackets,  jaunty 
busbys  and  white  riding  breeches  with  the 
double  yellow  stripe,  into  which  their  limbs 
seemed  molded.  Every  other  squadron  was 
armed  with  lances,  from  the  metal  points  of 
which  fluttered  yellow  and  white  pennons. 
The  band  passed,  playing  the  regimental 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS.        37 

march,  then  came  the  colonel  and  staff,  the 
horses  crowding  and  trampling,  while  their 
heads  bobbed  in  unison,  and  the  pennons 
fluttered  from  their  lance  points.  The  troop 
ers,  who  rode  with  the  beautiful  English  seat, 
looked  brown  as  berries  from  their  bloodless 
campaign  among  the  farms  of  Westchester, 
and  the  music  of  their  sabres  against  the  stir 
rups,  and  the  jingle  of  spurs  and  carbines 
\vas  delightful  to  me.  I  saw  Louis  riding  with 
his  squadron.  He  was  as  handsome  an  officer 
as  I  have  ever  seen.  Mr.  Wilde,  who  had 
mounted  a  chair  by  the  window,  saw  him  too, 
but  said  nothing.  Louis  turned  and  looked 
straight  at  Hawberk's  shop  as  he  passed,  and 
I  could  see  the  flush  on  his  brown  cheeks.  I 
think  Constance  must  have  been  at  the  win 
dow.  When  the  last  troopers  had  clattered 
by,  and  the  last  pennons  vanished  into  South 
5th  Avenue,  Mr.  WTilde  clambered  out  of  his 
chair  and  dragged  the  chest  away  from  the 
door. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  is  time  that  you  saw 
your  cousin  Louis." 

He  unlocked  the  door  and  I  picked  up  my 
hat  and  stick  and  stepped  into  the  corridor. 
The  stairs  were  dark.  Groping  about,  I  set 
my  foot  on  something  soft,  which  snarled 
and  spit,  and  I  aimed  a  murderous  blow  at 
the  cat,  but  my  cane  shivered  to  splinters 
against  the  balustrade,  and  the  beast  scurried 
back  into  Mr.  Wilde's  room. 

Passing  Hawberk's  door  again  I  saw  him 
still  at  work  on  the  armor,  but  I  did  not  stop, 
and  stepping  out  into  Bleecker  Street,  I  fol 
lowed  it  to  Wooster,  skirted  the  grounds  of 
the  Lethal  Chamber,  and  crossing  Washington 
Park  went  straight  to  my  rooms  in  the  Bene- 


2 3  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

dick.  Here  I  lunched  comfortably,  read  the 
Herald  and  the  Meteor,  and  finally  went  to 
the  steel  safe  in  my  bedroom  and  set  the  time 
combination.  The  three  and  three-quarter 
minutes  which  it  is  necessary  to  wait,  while 
the  time  lock  is  opening,  are  to  me  golden 
moments.  From  the  instant  I  set  the  com 
bination  to  the  moment  when  I  grasp  the 
knobs  and  swing  back  the  solid  steel  doors, 
I  live  in  an  ecstasy  of  expectation.  Those 
moments  must  be  like  moments  passed  in 
Paradise.  I  know  what  I  am  to  find  at  the 
end  of  the  time  limit.  I  know  what  the  mas 
sive  safe  holds  secure  for  me,  for  me  alone, 
and  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  waiting  is 
hardly  enhanced  when  the  safe  opens  and  I 
lift,  from  its  velvet  crown,  a  diadem  of  purest 
gold,  blazing  with  diamonds.  I  do  this  every 
day,  and  yet  the  joy  of  waiting  and  at  last 
touching  again  the  diadem,  only  seems  to  in 
crease  as  the  days  pass.  It  is  a  diadem  fit  for 
a  King  among  kings,  an  Emperor  among 
emperors.  The  King  in  Yellow  might  scorn 
it,  but  it  shall  be  worn  by  his  royal  servant. 

I  held  it  in  my  arms  until  the  alarm  on  the 
safe  rang  harshly,  and  then  tenderly,  proudly, 
I  replaced  it  and  shut  the  steel  doors.  'I  walked 
slowly  back  into  my  study,  which  faces  Wash 
ington  Square,  and  leaned  on  the  window-sill. 
The  afternoon  sun  poured  into  my  windows, 
and  a  gentle  breeze  stirred  the  branches  of 
the  elms  and  maples  in  the  park,  now  covered 
with  buds  and  tender  foliage.  A  flock  of 
pigeons  circled  about  the  tower  of  the 
Memorial  Church  ;  sometimes  alighting  on 
the  purple  tiled  roof,  sometimes  wheeling 
downward  to  the  lotos  fountain  in  front  of  the 
marble  arch.  The  gardeners  were  busy  with 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  REPUTA  TIONS.        2g 

the  flower  beds  around  the  fountain,  and  the 
freshly-turned  earth  smelled  sweet  and  spicy. 
A  lawn  mower,  drawn  by  a  fat  white  horse, 
clinked  across  the  green  sward,  and  watering 
carts  poured  showers  of  spray  over  the 
asphalt  drives.  Around  the  statue  of  Peter 
Stuyvesant,  which  in  1897  had  replaced  the 
monstrosity  supposed  to  represent  Garibaldi, 
children  played  in  the  spring  sunshine,  and 
nurse  girls  wheeled  elaborate  baby-carriages 
with  a  reckless  disregard  tor  the  pasty-faced 
occupants,  which  could  probably  be  explained 
by  the  presence  of  half  a  dozen  trim  dragoon 
troopers  languidly  lolling  on  the  benches. 
Through  the  trees,  the  Washington  Memorial 
Arch  glistened  like  silver  in  the  sunshine, 
and  beyond,  on  the  eastern  extremity  of  the 
square  the  gray  stone  barracks  of  the  dragoons, 
and  the  white  granite  artillery  stables  were 
alive  with  color  and  motion. 

I  looked  at  the  Lethal  Chamber  on  the 
corner  of  the  square  opposite.  A  few  curious 
people  still  lingered  about  the  gilded  iron  rail 
ing,  but  inside  the  grounds  the  paths  were 
deserted.  I  watched  the  fountains  ripple  and 
sparkle  ;  the  sparrows  had  already  found  this 
new  bathing  nook,  and  the  basins  were 
crowded  with  the  dusty-feathered  little  things. 
Two  or  three  white  peacocks  picked  their  way 
across  the  lawns,  and  a  drab-colored  pigeon 
sat  so  motionless  on  the  arm  of  one  of  the 
Fates,  that  it  seemed  to  be  a  part  of  the 
sculptured  stone. 

As  I  was  turning  carelessly  away,  a  slight 
commotion  in  the  group  of  curious  loiterers 
around  the  gates  attracted  my  attention.  A 
young  man  had  entered,  and  was  advancing 
with  nervous  strides  along  the  gravel  path 


20  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

which  leads  to  the  bronze  doors  of  the  Lethal 
Chamber.  He  paused  a  moment  before 
the  Fates,  and  as  he  raised  his  head  to 
those  three  mysterious  faces,  the  pigeon 
rose  from  its  sculptured  perch,  circled 
about  for  a  moment  and  wheeled  to  the  east. 
The  young  man  pressed  his  hands  to  his  face, 
and  then  with  an  undefmable  gesture  sprang 
up  the  marble  steps,  the  bronze  doors  closed 
behind  him,  and  half  an  hour  later  the  loiterers 
slouched  away,  and  the  frightened  pigeon  re 
turned  to  its  perch  in  the  arms  of  Fate. 

I  put  on  my  hat  and  went  out  into  the  park 
for  a  little  walk  before  dinner.  As  I  crossed 
the  central  driveway  a  group  of  officers 
passed,  and  one  of  them  called  out,  "  Hello, 
Hildred,"  and  came  back  to  shake  hands  with 
me.  It  was  my  Cousin  Louis,  who  stood  smil 
ing  and  tapping  his  spurred  heels  with  his 
riding-whip. 

"Just  back  from  Westchester,"  he  said  ; 
"  been  doing  the  bucolic  ;  milk  and  curds,  you 
know,  dairy-maids  in  sunbonnets,  who  say 
'  haeow  '  and  <  I  don't  think '  when  you  tell 
them  they  are  pretty.  I'm  nearly  dead  for  a 
square  meal  at  Delmonico's.  What's  the 
news  ? " 

"There  is  none,"  I  replied  pleasantly.  "I 
saw  your  regiment  coming  in  this  morning." 

"  Did  you  ?  I  didn't  see  you.  Where  were 
you  ? " 

"  In  Mr.  Wilde's  window." 

"  Oh,  hell  !  "  he  began  impatiently,  "  that 
man  is  stark  mad  !  I  don't  understand  why 
you " 

He  saw  how  annoyed  I  felt  by  this  outburst, 
and  begged  my  pardon. 

"  Really,  old  chap,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  mean  to 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS.       3! 

run  down  a  man  you  like,  but  for  the  life  of  me 
I  can't  see  what  the  deuce  you  find  in  common 
with  Mr.  Wilde.  He's  not  well-bred,  to  put 
it  generously  ;  he's  hideously  deformed  ;  his 
head  is  the  head  of  a  criminally  insane  person. 
You  know  yourself  he's  been  in  an  asylum * 

"  So  have  I,"  I  interrupted  calmly. 

Louis  looked  startled  and  confused  for  a 
moment,  but  recovered  and  slapped  me 
heartily  on  the  shoulder. 

"  You  were  completely  cured,"  he  began, 
but  I  stopped  him  again. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  that  I  was  simply 
acknowledged  never  to  have  been  insane." 

"  Of  course  that — that's  what  I  meant,"  he 
laughed. 

I  disliked  his  laugh  because  I  knew  it  was 
forced,  but  I  nodded  gaily  and  asked  him 
where  he  was  going.  Louis  looked  after 
his  brother  officers  who  had  now  almost 
reached  Broadway. 

"We  had  intended  to  sample  a  Brunswick 
cocktail,  but  to  tell  you  the  truth  I  was  anx 
ious  for  an  excuse  to  go  and  see  Hawberk  in» 
stead.  Come  along,  I'll  make  you  my  ex 
cuse." 

We  found  old  Hawberk,  neatly  attired  in  a 
fresh  spring  suit,  standing  at  the  door  of  his 
shop  and  sniffing  the  air. 

"  I  had  just  decided  to  take  Constance  for  a 
little  stroll  before  dinner,"  he  replied  to  the 
impetuous  volley  of  questions  from  Louis. 
«•  We  thought  of  walking  on  the  park  terrace 
along  the  North  River." 

At  that  moment  Constance  appeared  and 
grew  pale  and  rosy  by  turns  as  Louis  bent 
over  her  small  gloved  fingers.  J  tried  to  ex 
cuse  myself,  alleging  an  engagement  up-town. 


,2  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

but  Louis  and  Constance  would  not  listen,  and  1 
saw  I  was  expected  to  remain  and  engage  old 
Hawberk's  attention.  After  all  it  would  be  just 
•as  well  if  I  kept  my  eye  on  Louis,  I  thought, 
and  when  they  hailed  a  Spring  Street  horse- 
car,  I  got  in  after  them  and  took  my  seat  be 
side  the  armorer. 

The  beautiful  line  of  parks  and  granite  ter 
races  overlooking  the  wharves  along  the 
North  River,  which  were  built  in  1910  and 
finished  in  the  autumn  of  1917,  had  become 
one  of  the  most  popular  promenades  in  the 
metropolis.  They  extended  from  the  battery 
to  1 90th  Street,  overlooking  the  noble  river 
and  affording  a  fine  view  of  the  Jersey  shore 
and  the  Highlands  opposite.  Cafes  and  res 
taurants  were  scattered  here  and  there  among 
the  trees,  and  twice  a  week  military  bands 
from  the  garrison  played  in  the  kiosques  on 
the  parapets. 

We  sat  down  in  the  sunshine  on  the  bench 
at  the  foot  of  the  equestrian  statue  of  General 
Sheridan.  Constance  tipped  her  sunshade  to 
shield  her  eyes,  and  she  and  Louis  began  a 
murmuring  conversation  which  was  impos 
sible  to  catch.  Old  Hawberk,  leaning  on  his 
ivory-headed  cane,  lighted  an  excellent  cigar, 
the  mate  to  which  I  politely  refused,  and 
smiled  at  vacancy.  The  sun  hung  low  above 
the  Staten  Island  woods,  and  the  bay  was 
dyed  with  golden  hues  reflected  from  the  sun- 
warmed  sails  of  the  shipping  in  the  harbor. 

Brigs,  schooners,  yachts,  clumsy  ferry-boats, 
their  decks  swarming  with  people,  railroad 
transports  carrying  lines  of  brown,  blue  and 
white  freight  cars,  stately  sound  steamers,  de 
classe  tramp  steamers,  coasters,  dredgers, 
scows,  and  everywhere  pervading  the  entire  bay 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS.        *  + 

impudent  little  tugs  puffing  and  whistling  offi 
ciously  ; — these  were  the  crafts  which  churned 
the  sunlit  waters  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 
In  calm  contrast  to  the  hurry  of  sailing  ves 
sel  and  steamer  a  silent  fleet  of  white  war 
ships  lay  motionless  in  midstream. 

Constance's  merry  laugh  aroused  me  from 
my  reverie. 

"  What  are  you  staring  at  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Nothing — the  fleet,"  I  smiled. 

Then  Louis  told  us  what  the  vessels  were, 
pointing  out  each  by  its  relative  position 
to  the  old  Red  Fort  on  Governor's  Island. 

"That  little  cigar-shaped  thing  is  a  torpedo 
boat,"  he  explained  ;  "  there  are  four  more  ly 
ing  close  together.  They  are  the  '  Tarpon,'  the 
•Falcon,'  the  'Sea  Fox'  and  the  'Octopus.' 
The  gun-boats  just  above  are  the  '  Princeton,* 
the  'Champlain,'  the  'Still  Water'  and  the 
•Erie.'  Next  to  them  lie  the  cruisers  'Farra- 
gut '  and  '  Los  Angeles,'  and  above  them  the 
battle-ships  'California  '  and  '  Dakota,'  and  the 
«  Washington  '  which  is  the  flag-ship.  Those 
two  squatty-looking  chunks  of  metal  which 
are  anchored  there  off  Castle  William  are 
the  double-turreted  monitors  '  Terrible '  and 
•Magnificent';  behind  them  lies  the  ram, 
•  Osceola.' " 

Constance  looked  at  him  with  deep  ap 
proval  in  her  beautiful  eyes.  "  What  loads 
of  things  you  know  for  a  soldier,"  she  said, 
and  we  all  joined  in  the  laugh  which  fol 
lowed. 

Presently  Louis  rose  with  a  nod  to  us  and 
offered  his  arm  to  Constance,  and  they  strolled 
away  along  the  river  wall.  Hawberk  watched 
them  for  a  moment  and  then  turned  to  me. 

"  Mr.  Wilde  was  right,"  he  said.    "  I  have 


-4  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

found  the  missing  tassets  and  left  cuissard  of 
the  '  Prince's  Emblazoned,'  in  a  vile  old  junk 
garret  in  Pell  Street." 

"  998  ?  "  I  inquired,  with  a  smile. 

«  Yes." 

«'  Mr.  Wilde  is  a  very  intelligent  man,"  I 
observed. 

"  I  want  to  give  him  the  credit  of  this  most 
important  discovery,"  continued  Hawberk. 
«*  And  I  intend  it  shall  be  known  that  he  is 
^entitled  to  the  fame  of  it." 

"  He  won't  thank  you  for  that,"  I  answered 
sharply  ;  "  please  say  nothing  about  it." 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  is  worth  ? "  said 
Hawberk. 

"  No,  fifty  dollars,  perhaps." 

*«  It  is  valued  at  five  hundred,  but  the  owner 
ofthe  'Prince's  Emblazoned'  will  give  two 
thousand  dollars  to  the  person  who  completes 
'his  suit  ;  that  reward  also  belongs  to  Mr. 
Wilde." 

«  He  doesn't  want  it !  He  refuses  it !  "  I 
answered  angrily.  "  What  do  you  know 
about  Mr.  Wilde  ?  He  doesn't  need  the 
imoney.  He  is  rich — or  will  be — richer  than 
any  living  man  except  myself.  What  will  we 
«are  for  money  then — what  will  we  care,  he 
and  I,  when — when " 

"  When  what  ?  "  demanded  Hawberk,  as 
tonished. 

«« You  will  see,"  I  replied,  on  my  guard 
again. 

He  looked  at  me  narrowly,  much  as  Doctor 
Archer  used  to,  and  I  knew  he  thought  I  was 
.mentally  unsound.  Perhaps  it  was  fortunate 
for  him  that  he  did  not  use  the  word  lunatic 
just  then. 

**  No,"  I  replied  to  his  unspoken  thought. 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS.        35 

•*  I  am  not  mentally  weak ;  my  mind  is  as 
healthy  as  Mr.  Wilde's.  I  do  not  care  to  ex 
plain  just  yet  what  I  have  on  hand,  but  it  is  an 
investment  which  will  pay  more  than  mere 
gold,  silver  and  precious  stones.  It  will 
secure  the  happiness  and  prosperity  of  a  con 
tinent — yes,  a  hemisphere  !  " 

"Oh,"  said  Hawberk. 

"  And  eventually,"  I  continued  more  quietly, 
"  it  will  secure  the  happiness  of  the  whole 
world." 

"  And  incidentally  your  own  happiness  and 
prosperity  as  well  as  Mr.  Wilde's  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  I  smiled.  But  I  could  have 
throttled  him  for  taking  that  tone. 

He  looked  at  me  in  silence  for  a  while  and 
then  said  very  gently,  "  Why  don't  you  give 
up  your  books  and  studies,  Mr.  Castaigne, 
and  take  a  tramp  among  the  mountains  some 
where  or  other  ?  You  used  to  be  fond  of 
fishing.  Take  a  cast  or  two  at  the  trout  in 
the  Rangelys." 

"  I  don't  care  for  fishing  any  more,"  I 
answered,  without  a  shade  of  annoyance  in 
my  voice. 

"  You  used  to  be  fond  of  everything,"  he 
continued  ;  ««  athletics,  yachting,  shooting 
riding " 

"  I  have  never  cared  to  ride  since  my  fall," 
I  said  quietly. 

"  Ah,  yes,  your  fall,"  he  repeated,  looking 
away  from  me. 

I  thought  this  nonsense  had  gone  far 
enough,  so  I  turned  the  conversation  back  to 
Mr.  Wilde  ;  but  he  was  scanning  my  face 
again  in  a  manner  highly  offensive  to  me. 

"  Mr.  Wilde,"  he  repeated,  "  do  you  know 
what  he  did  this  afternoon  ?  He  came  down 


-6  THE  KING  IN-  YELLOW. 

stairs  and  nailed  a  sign  over  the  hall  door  next 
to  mine  ;  it  read  : 

MR.  WILDE, 

REPAIRER  OF  REPUTATIONS. 
3d  Bell. 

Do  you  know  what  a  Repairer  of  Reputations 
can  be  ? " 

"  I  do,"  I  replied,  suppressing  the  rage 
within. 

"  Oh,"  he  said  again. 

Louis  and  Constance  came  strolling  by  and 
stopped  to  ask  if  we  would  join  them.  Haw- 
berk  looked  at  his  watch.  At  the  same  moment 
a  puff  of  smoke  shot  from  the  casemates  of 
Castle  William,  and  the  boom  of  the  sunset 
gun  rolled  across  the  water  and  was  re 
echoed  from  the  Highlands  opposite.  The  flag 
came  running  down  from  the  flag-pole,  the 
bugles  sounded  on  the  white  decks  of  the  war 
ships,  and  the  first  electric  light  sparkled  out 
from  the  Jersey  shore. 

As  I  turned  into  the  city  with  Hawberk  I 
heard  Constance  murmur  something  to  Louis 
which  I  did  not  understand  ;  but  Louis  whis 
pered  "  My  darling,"  in  reply  ;  and  again,  walk 
ing  ahead  with  Hawberk  through  the  square 
I  heard  a  murmur  of  "sweetheart,"  and 
"my  own  Constance,"  and  I  knew  the  time 
had  nearly  arrived  when  I  should  speak  of 
important  matters  with  my  Cousin  Louis. 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS. 


III. 

NE  morning  early  in  May  I  stood 
before  the  steel  safe  in  my  bedroom, 
trying  on  the  golden  jewelled  crown. 
The  diamonds  flashed  fire  as  I  turned 
to  the  mirror,  and  the  heavy  beaten  gold 
burned  like  a  halo  about  my  head.  I 
remembered  Camilla's  agonized  scream  and 
the  awful  words  echoing  through  the  dim 
streets  of  Carcosa.  They  were  the  last  lines 
in  the  first  act,  and  I  dared  not  think 
of  what  followed — dared  not,  even  in  the 
spring  sunshine,  there  in  my  own  room, 
surrounded  with  familiar  objects,  reassured 
by  the  bustle  from  the  street  and  the  voices  of 
the  servants  in  the  hallway  outside.  For  those 
poisoned  words  had  dropped  slowly  into  my 
heart,  as  death-sweat  drops  upon  a  bed-sheet 
and  is  absorbed.  Trembling,  I  put  the  diadem 
from  my  head  and  wiped  my  forehead,  but  I 
thought  of  Hastur  and  of  my  own  rightful 
ambition,  and  I  remembered  Mr.  Wilde  as  I 
had  last  left  him,  his  face  all  torn  and  bloody 
from  the  claws  of  that  devil's  creature,  and 
what  he  said —  ah,  what  he  said  !  The 
alarm  bell  in  the  safe  began  to  whirr  harshly, 
and  I  knew  my  time  was  up  ;  but  I  would  not 
heed  it,  and  replacing  the  flashing  circlet  upon 
my  head  I  turned  defiantly  to  the  mirror.  I 
stood  for  a  long  time  absorbed  in  the  chang 
ing  expression  of  my  own  eyes.  The  mirror 
reflected  a  face  which  was  like  my  own,  but 


KING  IN  YELLOW. 

whiter,  and  so  thin  that  I  hardly  recognized 
it.  And  all  the  time  I  kept  repeating  between 
my  clenched  teeth,  "  The  day  has  come  !  the 
day  has  come  ! "  while  the  alarm  in  the  safe 
whirred  and  clamored,  and  the  diamonds 
sparkled  and  flamed  above  my  brow.  I  heard 
a  door  open  but  did  not  heed  it.  It  was  only 
when  I  saw  two  faces  in  the  mirror  ; — it  was 
only  when  another  face  rose  over  my  shoulder, 
and  two  other  eyes  met  mine.  I  wheeled  like 
a  flash  and  seized  a  long  knife  from  my  dress 
ing-table,  and  my  cousin  sprang  back  very 
pale,  crying:  "  Hildred  !  for  God's  sake!" 
then  as  my  hand  fell,  he  said  :  "  It  is  I,  Louis, 
don't  you  know  me  ? "  I  stood  silent.  I 
could  not  have  spoken  for  my  life.  He  walked 
up  to  me  and  took  the  knife  from  my  hand. 

"  What  is  all  this  ?  "  he  inquired,  in  a  gentle 
voice.  ««  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied.  But  I  doubt  if  he  heard 
me. 

"Come,  come,  old  fellow,"  he  cried,  "  take 
off  that  brass  crown  and  toddle  into  the  study. 
Are  you  going  to  a  masquerade  ?  What's  all 
this  theatrical  tinsel  anyway  ?  " 

I  was  glad  he  thought  the  crown  was  made 
of  brass  and  paste,  yet  I  didn't  like  him  any 
the  better  for  thinking  so.  I  let  him  take  it 
from  my  hand,  knowing  it  was  best  to  humor 
him.  He  tossed  the  splendid  diadem  in  the 
air,  and  catching  it,  turned  to  me  smiling. 

"  It's  dear  at  fifty  cents,"  he  said.  "  What's 
it  for  ?  " 

I  did  not  answer,  but  took  the  circlet  from 
his  hands,  and  placing  it  in  the  safe  shut  the 
massive  steel  door.  The  alarm  ceased  its 
infernal  din  at  once.  He  watched  me  curi 
ously,  but  did  not  seem  to  notice  the  sudden 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS.       ^ 

ceasing  of  the  alarm.  He  did,  however,  speak 
of  the  safe  as  a  biscuit  box.  Fearing  lest  he 
might  examine  the  combination  I  led  the  way 
into  my  study.  Louis  threw  himself  on  the 
sofa  and  flicked  at  flies  with  his  eternal  riding- 
\vhip.  He  wore  his  fatigue  uniform  with  the 
braided  jacket  and  jaunty  cap,  and  I  noticed 
that  his  riding-boots  were  all  splashed  with, 
red  mud. 

"  Where  have  you  been,"  I  inquired. 

"  Jumping  mud  creeks  in  Jersey,"  he  said, 
"  I  haven't  had  time  to   change  yet ;  I    was 
rather  in  a  hurry  to  see  you.     Haven't  you  got 
a  glass  of  something  ?     I'm  dead  tired  ;  been  , 
in  the  saddle  twenty-four  hours." 

I  gave  him  some  brandy  from  my  medicinal  , 
store,  which  he  drank  with  a  grimace. 

"  Damned  bad  stuff,"  he  observed.  "  I'll  give 
you  an  address  where  they  sell  brandy  that  is^ 
brandy." 

"  It's  good  enough  for  my  needs,"  I  said 
indifferently.  "  I  use  it  to  rub  my  chest  with." 
He  stared  and  flicked  at  another  fly. 

"  See  here,  old  fellow,"  he  began,  "  I've  got 
something  to  suggest  to  you.  It's  four  years? 
now  that  you've  shut  yourself  up  here  like  an 
owl,  never  going  anywhere,  never  taking,  any 
healthy  exercise,  never  doing  a  damn  thing  but 
poring  over  those  books  up  there  on  the,1 
mantelpiece." 

He  glanced  along  the  row  of  shelves,,, 
"  Napoleon,  Napoleon,  Napoleon  !  "  he  read.. 
For  heaven  sake,  have  you  nothing  but  Napo 
leons  there  ?  " 

"  I  wish  they  were  bound  in  gold,"  I  saic?. 
"  But  wait,  yes,  there  is  another  book,  'The 
King  in  Yellow.'"  I  looked  him  steadily  ia 
the  eye. 


^o  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

"  Have  you  never  read  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  ?  No,  thank  God  !  I  don't  want  to  be 
driven  crazy." 

I  saw  he  regretted  his  speech  as  soon  as 
he  had  uttered  it.  There  is  only  one  word 
which  I  loathe  more  than  I  do  lunatic  and 
that  word  is  crazy.  But  I  controlled  myself 
and  asked  him  why  he  thought  "  The  King 
in  Yellow  "  dangerous. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  hastily.  "  I 
only  remember  the  excitement  it  created  and 
the  denunciations  from  pulpit  and  press.  I 
believe  the  author  shot  himself  after  bringing 
forth  this  monstrosity,  didn't  he  ?  " 

"  I  understand  he  is  still  alive,"  I  answered. 

"  That's  probably  true,"  he  muttered ; 
"  bullets  couldn't  kill  a  tiend  like  that." 

"  It  is  a  book  of  great  truths,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  of  '  truths  '  which  send 
men  frantic  and  blast  their  lives.  I  don't 
care  if  the  thing  is,  as  they  say,  the  very 
supreme  essence  of  art.  It's  a  crime  to  have 
written,  it  and  I  for  one  shall  never  open  its 
pages." 

"  Is  that  what  you  have  come  to  tell  me  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  came  to  tell  you  that  I 
am  going  to  be  married." 

I  believe  for  a  moment  my  heart  ceased  to 
beat,  but  I  kept  my  eyes  on  his  face. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  smiling  happily, 
•"  married  to  the  sweetest  girl  on  earth." 

«'  Constance  Hawberk,"  I  said  mechanically. 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  "he  cried,  astonished. 
*«  I  didn't  know  it  myself  until  that  evening 
last  April,  when  we  strolled  down  to  the  em 
bankment  before  dinner." 

•  When  is  it  to  be  ?"  I  asked. 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS.        ^j 

"  It  was  to  have  been  next  September,  but 
an  hour  ago  a  despatch  came  ordering  our 
regiment  to  the  Presidio,  San  Francisco.  We 
leave  at  noon  to-morrow.  To-morrow,"  he 
repeated.  "  Just  think,  Hildred,  to-morrow 
•I  shall  be  the  happiest  fellow  that  ever  drew 
breath  in  this  jolly  world,  for  Constance  will 
go  with  me." 

I  offered  him  my  hand  in  congratulation, 
and  he  seized  and  shook  it  like  the  good- 
natured  fool  he  was — or  pretended  to  be. 

"  I  am  going  to  get  my  squadron  as  a 
wedding  present,"  he  rattled  on.  "  Captain 
and  Mrs.  Louis  Castaigne,  eh,  Hildred  ?  " 

Then  he  told  me  where  it  was  to  be  and 
who  were  to  be  there,  and  made  me  promise 
to  come  and  be  best  man.  I  set  my  teeth 
and  listened  to  his  boyish  chatter  without 
showing  what  I  felt,  but — 

I  was  getting  to  the  limit  of  my  endurance, 
and  when  he  jumped  up,  and,  switching  his 
spurs  till  they  jingled,  said  he  must  go,  I  did 
not  detain  him. 

"  There's  one  thing  I  want  to  ask  of  you,"  I 
said  quietly. 

"Out  with  it,  it's  promised,"  he  laughed. 

"  I  want  you  to  meet  me  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour's  talk  to-night." 

"Of  course,  if  you  wish,"  he  said,  some 
what  puzzled.  "  Where  ?  " 

"  Anywhere,  in  the  park  there." 

«  What  time,  Hildred  ?  " 

««  Midnight." 

"  What  in  the  name  of  —  -"  he  began,  but 
-checked  himself  and  laughingly  assented.  I 
watched  him  go  down  the  stairs  and  hurry 
away,  his  sabre  banging  at  every  stride.  He 
turned  into  Bleecker  Street,  and  I  knew  he 


* 2  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

was  going-  to  see  Constance.  I  gave  him  ten 
minutes  to  disappear  and  then  followed  in  his 
footsteps,  taking  with  me  the  jewelled  crown 
and  the  silken  robe  embroidered  with  the 
Yellow  Sign.  When  I  turned  into  Bleecker 
Street,  and  entered  the  doorway  which  bore 
the  sign, 

MR.  WILDE, 

REPAIRER  OF  REPUTATIONS. 
3d  Bell, 

I  saw  old  Hawberk  moving  about  in  his  shop, 
and  imagined  I  heard  Constance's  voice  in 
the  parlor  ;  but  I  avoided  them  both  and 
hurried  up  the  trembling  stairways  to  Mr. 
Wilde's  apartment.  I  knocked,  and  entered 
without  ceremony.  Mr.  Wilde  lay  groaning 
on  the  floor,  his  tace  covered  with  blood,  his 
clothes  torn  to  shreds.  Drops  of  blood  were 
scattered  about  over  the  carpet,  which  had 
also  been  ripped  and  frayed  in  the  evidently 
recent  struggle. 

"  It's  that  cursed  cat,"  he  said,  ceasing  his 
groans,  and  turning  his  colorless  eyes  to  me ; 
"she  attacked  me  while  I  was  asleep.  I  be 
lieve  she  will  kill  me  yet." 

This  was  too  much,  so  I  went  into  the 
kitchen  and  seizing  a  hatchet  from  the  pantry, 
started  to  find  the  infernal  beast  and  settle 
her  then  and  there.  My  search  was  fruitless, 
and  after  a  while  I  gave  it  up  and  came  back 
to  find  Mr.  Wilde  squatting  on  his  high  chair 
by  the  table.  He  had  washed  his  face  and 
changed  his  clothes.  The  great  furrows 
which  the  cat's  claws  had  ploughed  up  in 
his  face  he  had  filled  with  collodion,  and  a 
rag  hid  the  wound  in  his  throat.  I  told  him  I 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS.        ^ 

should  kill  the  cat  when  I  came  across  her, 
but  he  only  shook  his  head  and  turned  to  the 
open  ledger  before  him.  He  read  name  after 
name  of  the  people  who  had  come  to  him  in 
regard  to  their  reputation,  and  the  sums  he 
had  amassed  were  startling. 

"  I  put  on  the  screws  now  and  then/*  he 
explained. 

"  One  day  or  other  some  of  these  people 
will  assassinate  you,"  I  insisted. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  he  said,  rubbing  his 
mutilated  ears. 

It  was  useless  to  argue  with  him,  so  I  took 
down  the  manuscript  entitled  Imperial  Dynasty 
of  America,  for  the  last  time  I  should  ever 
take  it  down  in  Mr.  Wilde's  study.  I  read  it 
through,  thrilling  and  trembling  with  pleasure. 
When  I  had  finished  Mr.  Wilde  took  the 
manuscript  and,  turning  to  the  dark  passage 
which  leads  from  his  study  to  his  bed 
chamber,  called  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Vance." 
Then  for  the  first  time,  I  noticed  a  man 
crouching  there  in  the  shadow.  How  I  had 
overlooked  him  during  my  search  for  the  cat,  I 
cannot  imagine. 

"  Vance,  come  in,"  cried  Mr.  Wilde. 

The  figure  rose  and  crept  toward  us,  and  I 
shall  never  forget  the  face  that  he  raised  to 
mine,  as  the  light  from  the  window  illumi 
nated  it. 

"  Vance,  this  is  Mr.  Castaigne,"  said  Mr. 
Wilde.  Before  he  had  finished  speaking,  the 
man  threw  himself  on  the  ground  before  the 
table,  crying  and  gasping,  "  Oh,  God  !  Oh, 
my  God  !  Help  me  '.  Forgive  me — Oh,  Mr. 
Castaigne,  keep  that  man  away.  You  can 
not,  you  cannot  mean  it  !  You  are  different 
— save  me  !  I  am  broken  down — I  was  in  a 


44  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

madhouse  and  now — when  all  was  coming 
right^when  I  had  forgotten  the  King — the 
King  in  Yellow  and — but  I  shall  go  mad 
again — I  shall  go  mad — 

His  voice  died  into  a  choking  rattle,  for  Mr. 
Wilde  had  leapt  on  him  and  his  right  hand  en 
circled  the  man's  throat.  When  Vance  fell 
in  a  heap  on  the  floor,  Mr.  Wilde  clambered 
nimbly  into  his  chair  again,  and  rubbing  his 
mangled  ears  with  the  stump  of  his  hand, 
turned  to  me  and  asked  me  for  the  ledger.  I 
reached  it  down  from  the  shelf  and  he  opened 
it.  After  a  moment's  searching  among  the 
beautifully  written  pages,  he  coughed  compla 
cently,  and  pointed  to  the  name  Vance. 

"  Vance,"  he  read  aloud,  "  Osgood  Oswald 
Vance."  At  the  sound  of  his  name,  the  man 
on  the  floor  raised  his  head  and  turned  a  con 
vulsed  face  to  Mr.  Wilde.  His  eyes  were  in 
jected  with  blood,  his  lips  tumefied.  "  Called 
April  28th,"  continued  Mr.  Wilde.  "  Occupa 
tion,  cashier  in  the  Seaforth  National  Bank ; 
has  served  a  term  of  forgery  at  Sing  Sing, 
from  whence  he  was  transferred  to  the  Asylum 
for  the  Criminal  Insane.  Pardoned  by  the 
Governor  of  New  York,  and  discharged  from 
the  Asylum,  January  19,  1918.  Reputafion 
damaged  at  Sheepshead  Bay.  Rumors  that 
he  lives  beyond  his  income.  Reputation  to  be 
repaired  at  once.  Retainer  $1,500. 

"  Note. — Has  embezzled  sums  amounting  to 
$30,000  since  March  2oth,  1919,  excellent 
family,  and  secured  present  position  through 
uncle's  influence.  Father,  President  of  Sea 
forth  Bank." 

I  looked  at  the  man  on  the  floor. 

"Get  up,  Vance,"  said  Mr.  Wilde  in  a 
gentle  voice.  Vance  rose  as  if  hypnotized. 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  REPUTATIONS.         •* 

«'  He  will  do  as  we  suggest  now,"  observed 
Mr.  Wilde,  and  opening  the  manuscript,  he 
read  the  entire  history  of  the  Imperial  Dynasty 
of  America.  Then  in  a  kind  and  soothing  mur 
mur  he  ran  over  the  important  points  with 
Vance,  who  stood  like  one  stunned.  His  eyes 
were  so  blank  and  vacant  that  I  imagined  he 
had  become  half-witted,  and  remarked  it  to 
Mr.  Wilde  who  replied  that  it  was  of  no  con 
sequence  anyway.  Very  patiently  we  pointed 
out  to  Vance  what  his  share  in  the  affair 
would  be,  and  he  seemed  to  understand  after 
a  while.  Mr.  Wilde  explained  the  manuscript, 
using  several  volumes  on  Heraldry,  to  sub 
stantiate  the  result  of  his  researches.  He 
mentioned  the  establishment  of  the  Dynasty 
in  Carcosa,  the  lakes  which  connected  Hastur, 
Aldebaran  and  the  mystery  of  the  Hyades. 
He  spoke  of  Cassilda  and  Camilla,  and  sounded 
the  cloudy  depths  of  Demhe,  and  the  Lake  of 
Hali.  "  The  scolloped  tatters  of  the  King  in 
Yellow  must  hide  Yhtill  forever,"  he  muttered, 
but  I  do  not  believe  Vance  heard  him.  Then 
by  degrees  he  led  Vance  along  the  ramifica 
tions  of  the  Imperial  family,  to  Uoht  and 
Thale,  from  Naotalba  and  Phantom  ot  Truth, 
to  Aldones,  and  then  tossing  aside  his  manu 
script  and  notes,  he  began  the  wonderful  story 
of  the  Last  King.  Fascinated  and  thrilled  I 
watched  him.  He  threw  up  his  head,  his 
long  arms  were  stretched  out  in  a  magnificent 
gesture  of  pride  and  power,  and  his  eyes 
blazed  deep  in  their  sockets  like  two  emeralds. 
Vance  listened  stupefied.  As  for  me,  when 
at  last  Mr.  Wilde  had  finished,  and  pointing 
to  me,  cried,  "The  cousin  of  the  King!"  my 
head  swam  with  excitement. 

Controlling  myself  with  a  superhuman  effort, 


46 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


I  explained  to  Vance  why  I  alone  was  worthy 
of  the  crown  and  why  my  cousin  must  be  ex 
iled  or  die.  I  made  him  understand  that  my 
cousin  must  never  marry,  even  after  renounc 
ing  all  his  claims,  and  how  that  least  of  all  he 
should  marry  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis  of 
Avonshire  and  bring  England  into  the  ques 
tion.  I  showed  him  a  list  of  thousands  of 
names  which  Mr.  Wilde  had  drawn  up  ;  every 
man  whose  name  was  there  had  received  the 
Yellow  Sign  which  no  living  human  being 
dared  disregard.  The  city,  the  state,  the 
•whole  land,  were  ready  to  rise  and  tremble 
before  the  Pallid  Mask. 

The  time  had  come,  the  people  should  know 
the  son  of  Hastur,  and  the  whole  world  bow 
to  the  Black  Stars  which  hang  in  the  sky  over 
Carcosa. 

Vance  leaned  on  the  table,  his  head  buried 
in  his  hands.  Mr.  Wilde  drew  a  rough  sketch 
on  the  margin  of  yesterday's  Herald  with  a 
bit  of  lead  pencil.  It  was  a  plan  of  Hawberk's 
rooms.  Then  he  wrote  out  the  order  and 
affixed  the  seal,  and  shaking  like  a  palsied 
man  I  signed  my  first  writ  of  execution  with 
my  name  Hildred-Rex. 

Mr.  Wilde  clambered  to  the  floor  and  un 
locking  the  cabinet,  took  a  long  square  box 
from  the  first  shelf.  This  he  brought  to  the 
table  and  opened.  A  new  knife  lay  in  the  tis 
sue  paper  inside  and  I  picked  it  up  and  handed 
it  to  Vance,  along  with  the  order  and  the  plan 
of  Hawberk's  apartment.  Then  Mr.  Wilde 
told  Vance  he  could  go  ;  and  he  went,  sham 
bling  like  an  outcast  of  the  slums. 

I  sat  for  a  while  watching  the  daylight  fade 
behind  the  square  tower  of  the  Judson  Memor 
ial  Church,  and  finally,  gathering  up  the  man- 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS.       4. 

uscript  and  notes,  took  my  hat  and  started  for 
the  door. 

Mr.  Wilde  watched  me  in  silence.  When 
I  had  stepped  into  the  hall  I  looked  back. 
Mr.  Wilde's  small  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  me. 
Behind  him,  the  shadows  gathered  in  the  fad 
ing  light.  Then  I  closed  the  door  behind  me 
and  went  out  into  the  darkening  streets. 

I  had  eaten  nothing  since  breakfast,  but  I 
was  not  hungry.  A  wretched  half-starved 
creature,  who  stood  looking  across  the  street 
at  the  Lethal  Chamber,  noticed  me  and  came 
up  to  tell  me  a  tale  of  misery.  I  gave  him 
money,  I  don't  know  why,  and  he  went  away 
without  thanking  me.  An  hour  later  another 
outcast  approached  and  whined  his  story.  I 
had  a  blank  bit  of  paper  in  my  pocket,  on 
which  was  traced  the  Yellow  Sign  and  I  handed 
it  to  him.  He  looked  at  it  stupidly  for  a 
moment,  and  then  with  an  uncertain  glance 
at  me,  folded  it  with  what  seemed  to  me  exag 
gerated  care  and  placed  it  in  his  bosom. 

The  electric  lights  were  sparkling  among 
the  trees,  and  the  new  moon  shone  in  the  sky 
above  the  Lethal  Chamber.  It  was  tiresome 
waiting  in  the  square  ;  I  wandered  from  the 
Marble  Arch  to  the  artillery  stables,  and 
back  again  to  the  lotos  fountain.  The  flowers 
and  grass  exhaled  a  fragrance  which  troubled 
me.  The  jet  of  the  fountain  played  in  the 
moonlight,  and  the  musical  splash  of  falling 
drops  reminded  me  of  the  tinkle  of  chained 
mail  in  Hawberk's  shop.  But  it  was  not  so 
fascinating,  and  the  dull  sparkle  of  the  moon 
light  on  the  water  brought  no  such  sensations  of 
exquisite  pleasure, ,as  when  the  sunshine  played 
over  the  polished  steel  of  a  corselet  on  Haw- 
berk's  knee.  I  watched  the  bats  darting  and 


^3  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

turning  above  the  water  plants  in  the  fountain, 
basin,  but  their  rapid,  jerky  flight  set  my 
nerves  on  edge,  and  I  went  away  again  to  walk 
aimlessly  to  and  fro  among  the  trees. 

The  artillery  stables  were  dark,  but  in  the  cav 
alry  barracks  the  officer's  windows  were  brill 
iantly  lighted,  and  the  sallyport  was  constantly 
filled  with  troopers  in  fatigue,  carrying  straw 
and  harness  and  baskets  filled  with  tin  dishes. 

Twice  the  mounted  sentry  at  the  gates  was 
changed,  while  I  wandered  up  and  down  the 
asphalt  walk.  I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was 
nearly  time.  The  lights  in  the  barracks  went 
out  one  by  one,  the  barred  gate  was  closed, 
and  every  minute  or  two  an  officer  passed  in. 
through  the  side  wicket,  leaving  a  rattle  of 
accoutrements  and  a  jingle  of  spurs  on  the 
night  air.  The  square  had  become  very  silent. 
The  last  homeless  loiterer  had  been  driven 
away  by  the  gray-coated  park  policeman,  the 
car  tracks  along  Wooster  Street  were  deserted, 
and  the  only  sound  which  broke  the  stillness 
was  the  stamping  of  the  sentry's  horse  and  the 
ring  of  his  sabre  against  the  saddle  pom 
mel.  In  the  barracks,  the  officer's  quarters 
•were  still  lighted,  and  military  servants 
passed  and  repassed  before  the  bay  windows. 
Twelve  o'clock  sounded  from  the  new  spire  of 
St.  Francis  Xavier,  and  at  the  last  stroke  of 
the  sad-toned  bell  a  figure  passed  through  the 
wicket  beside  the  portcullis,  returned  the 
salute  of  the  sentry,  and  crossing  the  street 
entered  the  square  and  advanced  toward  the 
Benedick  apartment  house. 

"  Louis,"  I  called. 

The  man  pivoted  on  his  spurred  heels  and 
came  straight  toward  me. 

"  Is  that  you,  Hildred  ?  " 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  RE  PUT  A  TIONS.        ^ 

••  Yes,  you  are  on  time." 

I  took  his  offered  hand,  and  we  strolled  tcv 
•ward  the  Lethal  Chamber. 

He  rattled  on  about  his  wedding  and  the 
graces  of  Constance,  and  their  future  prospects,, 
calling  my  attention  to  his  captain's  shoulder- 
straps,  and  the  triple  gold  arabesque  on  his 
sleeve  and  fatigue  cap.  I  believe  I  listened  as 
much  to  the  music  of  his  spurs  and  sabre  as  I 
did  to  his  boyish  babble,  and  at  last  we  stood 
under  the  elms  on  the  Fourth  Street  corner 
of  the  square  opposite  the  Lethal  Chamber. 
Then  he  laughed  and  asked  me  what  I  wanted 
with  him.  I  motioned  him  to  a  seat  on  a 
bench  under  the  electric  light,  and  sat  down 
beside  him.  He  looked  at  me  curiously,  with 
that  same  searching  glance  which  I  hate  and 
fear  so  in  doctors.  I  felt  the  insult  of  his 
look,  but  he  did  not  know  it,  and  I  carefully 
concealed  my  feelings. 

"  Well,  old  chap,"  he  enquired,  "  what  caa 
I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  drew  from  my  pocket  the  manuscript 
and  notes  of  the  Imperial  Dynasty  of  America, 
and  looking  him  in  the  eye  said  : 

41  !  will  tell  you.  On  your  word  as  a  soldier, 
promise  me  to  read  this  manuscript  from  be 
ginning  to  end,  without  asking  me  a  question. 
Promise  me  to  read  these  notes  in  the  same, 
way,  and  promise  me  to  listen  to  what  I  have 
to  tell  later." 

"  I  promise,  if  you  wish  it,"  he  said  pleasant 
ly,  "  Give  me  the  paper,  Hildred." 

He  began  to  read,  raising  his  eyebrows, 
with  a  puzzled  whimsical  air,  which  made  me 
tremble  with  suppressed  anger.  As  he  ad* 
vanced,  his  eyebrows  contracted,  and  his  lips, 
seemed  to  form  the  word,  4<  rubbish." 


CO  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

Then  he  looked  slightly  bored,  but  appar« 
ently  for  my  sake  read,  with  an  attempt  at 
interest,  which  presently  ceased  to  be  an 
tffort.  He  started  when  in  the  closely- 
written  pages  he  came  to  his  own  name,  and 
when  he  came  to  mine  he  lowered  the  paper, 
and  looked  sharply  at  me  for  a  moment.  But 
he  kept  his  word,  and  resumed  his  reading, 
and  I  let  the  half-formed  question  die  on  his 
lips  unanswered.  When  he  came  to  the  end 
and  read  the  signature  of  Mr.  Wilde,  he 
folded  the  paper  carefully  and  returned  it  to 
me.  I  handed  him  the  notes,  and  he  settled 
back,  pushing  his  fatigue  cap  up  to  his  fore 
head,  with  a  boyish  gesture,  which  I  remem 
bered  so  well  in  school.  I  watched  his  face 
as  he  read,  and  when  he  finished  I  took  the 
notes  with  the  manuscript,  and  placed  them 
in  my  pocket.  Then  I  unfolded  a  scroll 
marked  with  the  Yellow  Sign.  He  saw  the 
sign,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  recognize  it,  and 
I  called  his  attention  to  it  somewhat  sharply. 

"  Well  "  he  said,  "  I  see  it.       What  is  it  ?" 

"  It  is  the  Yellow  Sign,"  I  said,  angrily. 

"  Oh,  that's  it,  is  it  ?  "  said  Louis,  in  that 
flattering  voice,  which  Doctor  Archer  used  to 
employ  with  me,  and  would  probably  have 
employed  again,  had  I  not  settled  his  affair 
for  him. 

I  kept  my  rage  down  and  answered  as 
steadily  as  possible,  "  Listen,  you  have  engaged 
your  word  ?  " 

"  I  am  listening,  old  chap,"  he  replied 
soothingly. 

I  began  to  speak  very  calmly. 

"  Dr.  Archer,  having  by  some  means  be 
come  possessed  of  the  secret  of  the  Imperial 
Succession,  attempted  to  deprive  me  of  my 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  REPUTA  TIONS.        r  j 

right,  alleging  that  because  of  a  fall  from  my 
horse  four  years  ago,  I  had  become  mentally 
deficient.  Fie  presumed  to  place  me  under 
restraint  in  his  own  house  in  hopes  of  either 
driving  me  insane  or  poisoning  me.  I  have 
not  forgotten  it.  I  visited  him  last  night 
and  the  interview  was  final." 

Louis  turned  quite  pale,  but  did  not  move. 
I  resumed  triumphantly,  "  There  are  yet 
three  people  to  be  interviewed  in  the  interests 
of  Mr.  Wilde  and  myself.  They  are  my 
cousin  Louis,  Mr.  Hawberk,  and  his  daughter 
Constance,*' 

Louis  sprang  to  his  feet  and  I  arose  also, 
and  flung  the  paper  marked  with  the  Yellow 
Sign  to  the  ground. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  need  that  to  tell  you  what  I 
have  to  say,"  I  cried  with  a  laugh  of  triumph. 
"  You  must  renounce  the  crown  to  me,  do 
you  hear,  to  me." 

Louis  looked  at  me  with  a  startled  air,  but 
recovering  himself  said  kindly,  "  Of  course  I 
renounce  the — what  is  it  I  must  renounce  ? "' 

"  The  crown,"  I  said  angrily. 

"Of  course,"  he  answered,  "I  renounce  it. 
Come,  old  chap,  I'll  walk  back  to  your  rooms 
with  you." 

"  Don't  try  any  of  your  doctor's  tricks  on 
me,"  I  cried,  trembling  with  fury.  "  Don't  act 
as  if  you  think  I  am  insane." 

"  What  nonsense,"  he  replied.  "Come,  it's 
getting  late,  Hildred." 

"  No,"  I  shouted,  "you  must  listen.  You 
cannot  marry,  I  forbid  it.  Do  you  hear  ?  I 
forbid  it.  You  shall  renounce  the  crown,  and 
in  reward  I  grant  you  exile,  but  it  you  refuse 
you  shall  die." 

He  tried  to  calm  me  but  I  was  roused  at 


£2  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

last,  and  drawing  my  long  knife  barred  his 
way. 

Then  I  told  him  how  they  would  find  Dr. 
Archer  in  the  cellar  with  his  throat  open,  and 
I  laughed  in  his  face  when  I  thought  of  Vance 
and  his  knife,  and  the  order  signed  by  me. 

"  Ah,  you  are  the  King,"  I  cried,  "  but  I  shall 
be  King.  Who  are  you  to  keep  me  from  Em 
pire  over  all  the  habitable  earth  !  I  was  born 
the  cousin  of  a  king,  but  I  shall  be  King  !  " 

Louis  stood  white  and  rigid  before  me. 
Suddenly  a  man  came  running  up  Fourth 
Street,  entered  the  gate  of  the  Lethal  Temple, 
traversed  the  path  to  the  bronze  doors  at  full 
speed,  and  plunged  into  the  death  chamber 
with  the  cry  of  one  demented,  and  I  laughed 
until  I  wept  tears,  for  I  had  recognized  Vance, 
and  knew  that  Hawberk  and  his  daughter 
were  no  longer  in  my  way. 

"Go,"  I  cried  to  Louis,  "you  have  ceased 
to  be  a  menace.  You  will  never  marry  Con 
stance  now,  and  if  you  marry  any  one  else  in 
your  exile,  I  will  visit  you  as  1  did  my  doctor 
last  night.  Mr.  Wilde  takes  charge  of  you 
to-morrow."  Then  I  turned  and  darted  into 
South  Fifth  Avenue,  and  with  a  cry  of  terror 
Louis  dropped  his  belt  and  sabre  and  followed 
me  like  the  wind.  I  heard  him  close  behind 
me  at  the  corner  of  Bleecker  Street,  and  I 
dashed  into  the  doorway  under  Hawberk's 
sign.  He  cried,  "  Halt,  or  I  tire  !  "  but  when 
he  saw  that  I  flew  up  the  stairs  leaving  Haw- 
berk's  shop  below,  he  left  me,  and  I  heard  him 
hammering  and  shouting  at  their  door  as 
though  it  were  possible  to  arouse  the  dead. 

Mr.  Wilde's  door  was  open,  and  I  en» 
tcred  crying,  "  It  is  done,  it  is  done  !  Let  the 
nations  rise  and  look  upon  their  King  ! "  but 


THE  REPAIRER  OF  REPUTATIONS.        e* 

I  could  not  find  Mr.  Wilde,  so  I  went  to  the 
cabinet  and  took  the  splendid  diadem  from  its 
case.  Then  I  drew  on  the  white  silk  robe, 
embroidered  with  the  yellow  sign,  and  placed 
the  crown  upon  my  head.  At  last  I  was 
King,  King  by  my  right  in  Hastur,  King  be 
cause  I  knew  the  mystery  of  the  Hyades,  and 
my  mind  had  sounded  the  depths  of  the  Lake 
of  Hali.  I  was  King  !  The  first  gray  pencil- 
lings  of  dawn  would  raise  a  tempest  which 
would  shake  two  hemispheres.  Then  as  I 
stood,  my  every  nerve  pitched  to  the  highest 
tension,  faint  with  the  joy  and  splendor  of  my 
thought,  without,  in  the  dark  passage,  a  man 
groaned. 

I  seized  the  tallow  dip  and  sprang  to  the 
door.  The  cat  passed  me  like  a  demon,  and 
the  tallow  dip  went  out,  but  my  long  knife 
flew  swifter  than  she,  and  I  heard  her  screech, 
and  I  knew  that  my  knife  had  found  her.  For 
a  moment  I  listened  to  her  tumbling  and 
thumping  about  in  the  darkness,  and  then 
when  her  frenzy  ceased,  I  lighted  a  lamp  and 
raised  it  over  my  head.  Mr.  Wilde  lay  on 
the  floor  with  his  throat  torn  open.  At  first 
I  thought  he  was  dead,  but  as  I  looked,  a 
green  sparkle  came  into  his  sunken  eyes,  his 
mutilated  hand  trembled,  and  then  a  spasm 
stretched  his  mouth  from  ear  to  ear.  For  a 
moment  my  terror  and  despair  gave  place  to 
hope,  but  as  I  bent  over  him  his  eyeballs 
rolled  clean  around  in  his  head,  and  he  died. 
Then  while  I  stood,  transfixed  with  rage  and 
despair,  seeing  my  crown,  my  empire,  every 
hope  and  every  ambition,  my  very  life,  lying1 
prostrate  there  with  the  dead  master,  they 
came,  seized  me  from  behind,  and  bound  me 
until  my  veins  stood  out  like  cords,  and  my 


£4  THE  KING  IN1  YELLOW. 

voice  failed  with  the  paroxysms  of  my  frenzied 
screams.  But  I  still  raged,  bleeding  and  in 
furiated  among  them,  and  more  than  one 
policeman  felt  my  sharp  teeth.  Then  when  I 
could  no  longer  move  they  came  nearer  ;  I 
saw  old  Hawberk,  and  behind  him  my  cousin 
Louis'  ghastly  face,  and  farther  away,  in  the 
corner,  a  woman,  Constance,  weeping  softly. 

"Ah!  I  see  it  now!"  I  shrieked.  "You 
have  seized  the  throne  and  the  empire.  Woe  ! 
woe  to  you  who  are  crowned  with  the  crown 
of  the  King  in  Yellow  !  " 

[EDITOR'S  NOTE. — Mr.  Castaigne  died  yes 
terday  in  the  Asylum  for  Criminal  Insane.] 


fHE  MASK. 


THE  MASK. 

CAMILLA  :  You,  sir,  should  uiimask. 

STRANGER:  Indeed? 

CASSILDA  :  Indeed    it's  time.     We    all    have     laid    aside 

disguise  but  you. 
STRANGER  :  I  wear  no  mask. 

:  (Terrified,  aside  to  Cassilda.)    No  mask?     No 
mask! 

THB  KING  IN  YELLOW  :    Act  i— Scene  ad. 


I. 

LTHOUGH  I  knew  nothing  of  chem 
istry,  I  listened  fascinated.  He 
picked  up  an  Easter  lily  which 
Genevieve  had  brought  that  morn 
ing  from  Notre  Dame  and  dropped  it  into  the 
basin.  Instantly  the  liquid  lost  its  crystalline 
clearness.  P'or  a  second  the  lily  was  en 
veloped  in  a  milk-white  foam,  which  disap 
peared,  leaving  the  fluid  opalescent.  Chang 
ing  tints  of  orange  and  crimson  played  over 
the  surface,  and  then  what  seemed  to  be  a  ray 
of  pure  sunlight  struck  through  from  the  bot 
tom  where  the  lily  was  resting.  At  the  same 
instant  he  plunged  his  hand  into  the  basin  and 
drew  out  the  flower.  «  There  is  no  danger," 
he  explained,  "  if  you  choose  the  right  mo 
ment.  That  golden  ray  is  the  signal." 

He  held  the  lily  toward  me  and  I  took  it  in 
my  hand.  It  had  turned  to  stone,  to  the 
purest  marble. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  it  is  without  a  flaw. 
What  sculptor  could  reproduce  it  ?  " 

57 


jg  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

The  marble  was  white  as  snow,  but  in 
Its  depths  the  veins  of  the  lily  were  tinged 
with  palest  azure,  and  a  faint  flush  lingered 
deep  in  its  heart. 

"  Don't  ask  me  the  reason  of  that,"  he 
smiled,  noticing  my  wonder.  ««  I  have  no  idea 
why  the  veins  and  heart  are  tinted,  but  they 
always  are.  Yesterday  I  tried  one  of  Gene- 
vieve's  gold  fish, — there  it  is." 

The  fish  looked  as  if  sculptured  in  marble. 
But  if  you  held  it  to  the  light  the  stone  was 
beautifully  veined  with  a  faint  blue,  and  from 
somewhere  within  came  a  rosy  light  like  the 
tint  which  slumbers  in  an  opal.  I  looked  into 
the  basin.  Once  more  it  seemed  filled  with 
clearest  crystal. 

"  If  I  should  touch  it  now  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  "  but  you  had 
better  not  try." 

"  There  is  one  thing  I'm  curious  about,"  I 
said,  "and  that  is  where  the  ray  of  sunlight 
came  from." 

"  It  looked  like  a  sunbeam  true  enough,"  he 
said.  "  I  don't  know,  it  always  comes  when  I 
immerse  any  living  thing.  Perhaps,"  he  con 
tinued  smiling,  "  perhaps  it  is  the  vital  spark 
of  the  creature  escaping  to  the  source  from 
whence  it  came." 

I  saw  he  was  mocking  and  threatened 
him  with  a  mahl-stick,  but  he  only  laughed 
and  changed  the  subject. 

"  Stay  to  lunch.  Genevieve  will  be  here 
directly." 

"  I  saw  her  going  to  early  mass,"  I  said, 
"  and  she  looked  as  fresh  and  sweet  as  that 
lily — before  you  destroyed  it." 

"  Do  you  think  I  destroyed  it  ?  "  said  Boris 
gravely. 


THE  MASK.  eg 

"  Destroyed,  preserved,  how  can  we  tell  ?  " 

We  sat  in  the  corner  of  a  studio  near  his 
unfinished  group  of  "  The  Fates."  He  leaned 
back  on  the  sofa,  twirling  a  sculptor's  chisel 
and  squinting  at  his  work. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  "I  have  finished 
pointing  up  that  old  academic  Ariadne  and  I 
suppose  it  will  have  to  go  to  the  Salon.  It's 
all  I  have  ready  this  year,  but  after  the  success 
the  '  Madonna,'  brought  me  I  feel  ashamed 
to  send  a  thing  like  that." 

The  "  Madonna,"  an  exquisite  marble  for 
which  Genevieve  had  sat,  had  been  the  sensa 
tion  of  last  year's  Salon.  I  looked  at  the 
Ariadne.  It  was  a  magnificent  piece  of  tech 
nical  work,  but  I  agreed  with  Boris  that  the 
world  would  expect  something  better  of  him 
than  that.  Still  it  was  impossible  now  to 
think  of  finishing  in  time  for  the  Salon, 
that  splendid  terrible  group  half  shrouded 
in  the  marble  behind  me.  "  The  Fates " 
would  have  to  wait. 

We  were  proud  of  Boris  Yvain.  We  claimed 
him  and  he  claimed  us  on  the  strength  of  his 
having  been  born  in  America,  although  his 
father  was  French  and  his  mother  was  a  Rus 
sian.  Every  one  in  the  Beaux  Arts  called  him 
Boris.  And  yet  there  were  only  two  of  us 
whom  he  addressed  in  the  same  familiar  way  ; 
Jack  Scott  and  myself. 

Perhaps  my  being  in  love  with  Genevieve 
had  something  to  do  with  his  affection  for 
me.  Not  that  it  had  ever  been  acknowledged 
between  us.  But  after  all  was  settled,  and 
she  had  told  me  with  tears  in  her  eyes  that  it 
was  Boris  whom  she  loved,  I  went  over  to  his 
house  and  congratulated  him.  The  perfect 
cordiality  of  that  interview  did  not  deceive 


KING  IN  YELLOW. 

either  of  us,  I  always  believed,  although  to  one 
at  least  it  was  a  great  comfort.  I  do  not 
think  he  and  Genevieve  ever  spoke  of  the  mat 
ter  together,  but  Boris  knew. 

Genevieve  was  lovely.  The  Madonna-like 
purity  of  her  face  might  have  been  inspired  by 
the  Sanctus  in  Gounod's  Mass.  But  I  was  al 
ways  glad  when  she  changed  that  mood  for 
what  we  called  her  "  April  Manoeuvres." 
She  was  often  as  variable  as  an  April  day. 
In  the  morning  grave,  dignified  and  sweet,  at 
noon  laughing,  capricious,  at  evening  what 
ever  one  least  expected.  I  preferred  her  so 
rather  than  in  that  Madonna-like  tranquil 
lity  which  stirred  the  depths  of  my  heart.  I 
was  dreaming  of  Genevieve  when  he  spoke 
again. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  discovery, 
Alec  ?" 

"  I  think  it  wonderful." 

"  I  shall  make  no  use  of  it,  you  know, 
beyond  satisfying  my  own  curiosity  so  far  as 
may  be  and  the  secret  will  die  with  me." 

"  It  would  be  rather  a  blow  to  sculpture, 
would  it  not  ?  We  painters  lose  more  than 
we  ever  gain  by  photography." 

Boris  nodded,  playing  with  the  edge  of  the 
chisel. 

"  This  new  vicious  discovery  would  corrupt 
the  world  of  art.  No,  I  shall  never  confide 
the  secret  to  anyone,"  he  said  slowly. 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  any  one  less 
informed  about  such  phenomena  than  myself; 
but  of  course  I  had  heard  of  mineral  springs 
so  saturated  with  silica  that  the  leaves  and 
twigs  which  fell  into  them  were  turned  to 
stone  after  a  time.  I  dimly  comprehended  the 
process,  how  the  silica  replaced  the  vegetable 


THE  MASK*  gj 

matter,  atom  by  atom,  and  the  result  was  a 
duplicate  of  the  object  in  stone.  This  I  con 
fess  had  never  interested  me  greatly,  and  as 
for  the  ancient  fossils  thus  produced,  they 
disgusted  me.  Boris,  it  appeared,  feeling- 
curiosity  instead  of  repugnance,  had  investi 
gated  the  subject,  and  had  accidentally 
stumbled  on  a  solution  which,  attacking  the 
immersed  object  with  a  ferocity  unheard  of,  in 
a  second  did  the  work  of  years.  This  was  all 
I  could  make  out  of  the  strange  story  he  had 
just  been  telling  me.  He  spoke  again  after  a 
long  silence. 

"  I  am  almost  frightened  when  I  think  what 
I  have  found.  Scientists  would  go  mad  over 
the  discovery.  It  was  so  simple  too  ;  it  dis 
covered  itself.  When  I  think  of  that  formula, 
and  that  new  element  precipitated  in  metallic 
scales " 

"  What  new  element  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  thought  of  naming  it,  and  I 
don't  believe  I  ever  shall.  There  are  enough 
precious  metals  now  in  the  world  to  cut 
throats  over." 

I  pricked  up  my  ears.  "  Have  you  struck 
gold,  Boris  ?  " 

"  No,  better  ; — but  see  here,  Alec  !  "  he 
laughed,  starting  up.  "  You  and  I  have  all 
we  need  in  this  world.  Ah  !  how  sinister  and 
covetous  you  look  already  ! "  1  laughed  too, 
and  told  him  I  was  devoured  by  the  desire  for 
gold,  and  we  had  better  talk  of  something 
else ;  so  when  Genevieve  came  in  shortly 
after,  we  had  turned  our  backs  on  alchemy. 

Genevieve  was  dressed  in  silvery  gray  from? 
head  to  foot.  The  light  glinted  along  the  soft 
curves  of  her  fair  hair  as  she  turned  her  cheek 
to  Boris ;  then  she  saw  me  and  returned  my 


£2  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

greeting.  She  had  never  before  failed  to  blow 
me  a  kiss  from  the  tips  of  her  white  fingers, 
and  I  promptly  complained  of  the  omission. 
She  smiled  and  held  out  her  hand  which 
dropped  almost  before  it  had  touched  mine  ; 
then  she  said,  looking  at  Boris, 

"You  must  ask  Alec  to  stay  for  luncheon." 
This  also  was  something  new.  She  had 
always  asked  me  herself  until  to-day. 

"  I  did,"  said  Boris  shortly. 

"  And  you  said  yes,  I  hope,"  she  turned  to 
me  with  a  charming  conventional  smile.  I 
might  have  been  an  acquaintance  of  the  day 
before  yesterday.  I  made  her  a  low  bow. 
"J'avais  bien  1'honneur,  madame,"  butrefusing 
to  take  up  our  usual  bantering  tone  she 
murmured  a  hospitable  commonplace  and 
disappeared.  Boris  and  I  looked  at  one  an 
other. 

"  I  had  better  go  home,  don't  you  think  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Hanged  if  I  know  !  "  he  replied  frankly. 

While  we  were  discussing  the  advisability 
of  my  departure  Genevieve  reappeared  in  the 
doorway  without  her  bonnet.  She  was  wonder 
fully  beautiful,  but  her  color  was  too  deep  and 
her  lovely  eyes  were  too  bright.  She  came 
•straight  up  to  me  and  took  my  arm. 

"  Luncheon  is  ready.  Was  I  cross,  Alec  ? 
I  thought  I  had  a  headache  but  I  haven't. 
Come  here,  Boris  ;  "  and  she  slipped  her  other 
arm  through  his.  "Alec  knows  that  after  you 
there  is  no  one  in  the  world  whom  I  like  as  well 
as  I  like  him,  so  if  he  sometimes  feels  snubbed 
it  won't  hurt  him." 

"  A  labonheur  !  "I  cried,  "who  says  there 
are  no  thunderstorms  in  April  ?  " 

"  Are  you   ready  ?  "  chanted  Boris.     "  Aye 


THE  MASK. 


ready  ;  **  and  arm  in  arm  we  raced  into  the 
dining-room  scandalizing  the  servants.  After 
all  we  were  not  so  much  to  blame  ;  Genevieve 
was  eighteen,  Boris  was  twenty-three  and  I 
not  quite  twenty-one, 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


II. 

»ivIE  work  that  I  was  doing  about 
this  time  on  the  decorations  for 
Genevieve's  boudoir  kept  me  con 
stantly  at  the  quaint  little  hotel  in  the 
rue  Sainte-Cecile.  Boris  and  I  in  those  days 
labored  hard  but  as  we  pleased,  which  was 
fitfully,  and  we  all  three,  with  Jack  Scott, 
idled  a  great  deal  together. 

One  quiet  afternoon  I  had  been  wandering 
alone  over  the  house  examining  curios,  prying 
into  odd  corners,  bringing  out  sweetmeats 
and  cigars  from  strange  hiding-places,  and  at 
last  I  stopped  in  the  bathing-room.  Boris  all 
over  clay  stood  there  washing  his  hands. 

The  room  was  built  of  rose-colored  marble 
excepting  the  floor  which  was  tesselated  in 
rose  and  gray.  In  the  centre  was  a  square 
pool  sunken  below  the  surface  of  the  floor  ; 
steps  led  down  into  it,  sculptured  pillars 
supported  a  frescoed  ceiling.  A  delicious 
marble  Cupid  appeared  to  have  just  alighted 
on  liis  pedestal  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room. 
The  whole  interior  was  Boris'  work  and  mine. 
Boris,  in  his  working  clothes  of  white  canvas, 
scraped  the  traces  of  clay  and  red  modelling 
wax  from  his  handsome  hands,  and  coquetted 
over  his  shoulder  with  the  Cupid. 

"  I  see  you,"  he  insisted,  "  don't  try  to  look 
the  other  way  and  pretend  not  to  see  me.  You 
know  who  made  you,  little  humbug  !  " 

It  was  always  my  role  to  interpret  Cupid'* 


THE  MASK.  65 

sentiments  in  these  conversations,  and  when 
my  turn  came  I  responded  in  such  a  manner, 
that  Boris  seized  my  arm  and  dragged  me 
toward  the  pool,  declaring  he  would  duck  me. 
Next  instant  he  dropped  my  arm  and  turned 
pale.  "  Good  God  !  "  he  said,  "  I  forgot  the 
pool  is  full  of  the  solution  ! " 

I  shivered  a  little,  and  drily  advised  him  to 
remember  better  where  he  had  stored  the 
precious  liquid. 

"  In  Heaven's  name  why  do  you  keep  a 
small  lake  of  that  grewsome  stuff  here  of  all 
places  !  "  i  asked. 

"  I  want  to  experiment  on  something  large," 
he  replied. 

"  On  me,  for  instance  !  " 

"  Ah  !  that  came  too  close  for  jesting  ;  but  I 
do  want  to  watch  the  action  of  that  solution 
on  a  more  highly  organized  living  body  ; 
there  is  that  big  white  rabbit,"  he  said,  fol 
lowing  me  into  the  studio. 

Jack  Scott,  wearing  a  paint-stained  jacket, 
came  wandering  in,  appropriated  all  the  Ori 
ental  sweetmeats  he  could  lay  his  hands  on, 
looted  the  cigarette  case,  and  finally  he  and 
Boris  disappeared  together  to  visit  the  Luxem 
bourg  gallery,  where  a  new  silver  bronze  by 
Rodin  and  a  landscape  of  Monet's  were  claim 
ing  the  exclusive  attention  of  artistic  France. 
I  went  back  to  the  studio,  and  resumed  my 
work.  It  was  a  Renaissance  screen,  which 
Boris  wanted  me  to  paint  for  Genevieve's 
boudoir.  But  the  small  boy  who  was  unwill 
ingly  dawdling  through  a  series  of  poses  for 
it,  to-day  refused  all  bribes  to  be  good.  He 
never  rested  an  instant  in  the  same  position, 
and  inside  of  five  minutes,  I  had  as  many  dif 
ferent  outlines  of  the  little  beggar. 


££  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

"  Are  you  posing,  or  are  you  executing  a 
song  and  dance,  my  friend  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"Whichever  monsieur  pleases,"  he  repl^d 
with  an  angelic  smile. 

Of  course  I  dismissed  him  for  the  day,  and 
of  course  I  paid  him  for  the  full  time,  that 
being  the  way  we  spoil  our  models. 

After  the  young  imp  had  gone,  I  made  a 
few  perfunctory  daubs  at  my  work,  but  was 
so  thoroughly  out  of  humor,  that  it  took  me 
the  rest  of  the  afternoon  to  undo  the  damage 
I  had  done,  so  at  last  I  scraped  my  palette, 
stuck  my  brushes  in  a  bowl  of  black  soap,  and 
strolled  into  the  smoking-room.  I  really  be 
lieve  that,  excepting  Genevieve's  apartments, 
no  room  in  the  house  was  so  free  from  the  per 
fume  of  tobacco  as  this  one.  It  was  a  queer 
chaos  of  odds  and  ends  hung  with  threadbare 
tapestry.  A  sweet-toned  old  spinet  in  good 
repair  stood  by  the  window.  There  were 
stands  of  weapons,  some  old  and  dull,  others 
bright  and  modern,  festoons  of  Indian  and 
Turkish  armor  over  the  mantel,  two  or  three 
good  pictures,  and  a  pipe-rack.  It  was  here 
that  we  used  to  come  for  new  sensations  in 
smoking.  I  doubt  if  any  type  of  pipe  ever  ex 
isted  which  was  not  represented  in  that  rack. 
When  we  had  selected  one,  we  immediately 
carried  it  somewhere  else  and  smoked  it ;  for 
the  place  was,  on  the  whole,  more  gloomy 
and  less  inviting  than  any  in  the  house.  But 
this  afternoon,  the  twilight  was  very  soothing, 
the  rugs  and  skins  on  the  floor  looked  brown 
and  soft  and  drowsy  ;  the  big  couch  was  piled 
with  cushions,  I  found  my  pipe  and  curled  up 
there  for  an  unaccustomed  smoke  in  the  smok 
ing-room.  I  had  chosen  one  with  a  long  flex 
ible  stem,  and  lighting  it  fell  to  dreaming. 


THE  MASK.  g. 

After  a  while  it  went  out,  but  I  did  not  stir.  I 
dreamed  on  and  presently  fell  asleep. 

I  awoke  to  the  saddest  music  I  had  ever 
heard.  The  room  was  quite  dark,  I  had  no 
idea  what  time  it  was.  A  ray  of  moonlight 
silvered  one  edge  of  the  old  spinet,  and  the 
polished  wood  seemed  to  exhale  the  sounds  as 
perfume  floats  above  a  box  of  sandal  wood. 
Some  one  rose  in  the  darkness,  and  came 
away  weeping  quietly,  and  I  was  fool  enough 
to  cry  out  "Genevieve  !  " 

She  dropped  at  my  voice,  and  I  had  time  to 
curse  myself  while  I  made  a  light  and  tried 
to  raise  her  from  the  floor.  She  shrank  away 
with  a  murmur  of  pain.  She  was  very  quiet, 
and  asked  for  Boris.  I  carried  her  to  the 
divan,  and  went  to  look  for  him,  but  he  was 
not  in  the  house,  and  the  servants  were  gone 
to  bed.  Perplexed  and  anxious,  I  hurried 
back  to  Genevieve.  She  lay  where  I  had  left 
her,  looking  very  white. 

"  I  can't  find  Boris  nor  any  of  the  servants/* 
I  said. 

"  I  know,"  she  answered  faintly,  "  Boris  has 
gone  to  Ept  with  Mr.  Scott.  I  did  not  re 
member  when  I  sent  you  for  him  just  now." 

"  But  he  can't  get  back  in  that  case  before 
to-morrow  afternoon,  and — are  you  hurt  ? 
Did  I  frighten  you  into  falling  ?  What  an 
awful  fool  I  am,  but  I  was  only  half  awake." 

"  Boris  thought  you  had  gone  home  before 
dinner.  Do  please  excuse  us  for  letting  you 
stay  here  all  this  time." 

44 1  have  had  a  long  nap,"  I  laughed,  •«  so 
sound  that  I  did  not  know  whether  I  was  still 
asleep  or  not  when  I  found  myself  staring  at 
a  figure  that  was  moving  toward  me,  and 
called  out  your  name.  Have  you  been  trying 


58  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

the  old  spinet  ?  You  must  have  played  very 
softly." 

I  would  tell  a  thousand  more  lies  worse 
than  that  one  to  see  the  look  of  relief  that 
came  into  her  face.  She  smiled  adorably  and 
said  in  her  natural  voice  :  "  Alec,  I  tripped 
on  that  wolfs  head,  and  I  think  my  ankle  is 
sprained.  Please  call  Marie  and  then  go 
home." 

I  did  as  she  bade  me  and  left  her  there  when 
the  maid  came  in. 


THE  MASK. 


69 


III. 


T  noon  next  day  when  I  called,  I 
found  Boris  walking  restlessly  about 
his  studio. 

"Genevieve  is  asleep  just  no w," 
he  told  me,  "  the  sprain  is  nothing,  but  why 
should  she  have  such  a  high  fever  ?  The  doc 
tor  can't  account  for  it ;  or  else  he  will  not," 
he  muttered. 

"  Genevieve  has  a  fever  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  should  say  so,  and  has  actually  been  a 
little  light-headed  at  intervals  all  night.  The 
idea !  gay  little  Genevieve,  without  a  care  in 
the  world, — and  she  keeps  saying  her  heart's 
broken,  and  she  wants  to  die  !  M 

My  own  heart  stood  still. 

Boris  leaned  against  the  door  of  his  studio, 
looking  down,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his 
kind,  keen  eyes  clouded,  a  new  line  of  trouble 
drawn  "  over  the  mouth's  good  mark,  that 
made  the  smile."  The  maid  had  orders  to 
summon  him  the  instant  Genevieve  opened 
her  eyes.  We  waited  and  waited,  and  Boris 
growing  restless  wandered  about,  fussing  with 
modelling  wax  and  red  clay.  Suddenly  he 
started  for  the  next  room.  "Come  and  see 
my  rose-colored  bath  full  of  death,"  he  cried. 

"  Is  it  death  ?  "  I  asked  to  humor  his  mood. 

"You  are  not  prepared  to  call  it  life,  I  sup 
pose,"  he  answered.  As  he  spoke  he  plucked 
a  solitary  gold  fish  squirming  and  twisting  out 
of  its  globe.  "  We'll  send  this  one  after  the 


y0  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

other — wherever  that  is,"  he  said.  There  was 
feverish  excitement  in  his  voice,  A  dull  weight 
of  fever  lay  on  my  limbs  and  on  my  brain  as 
I  followed  him  to  the  fair  crystal  pool  with  its 
pink-tinted  sides  ;  and  he  dropped  the  creature 
in.  Falling,  its  scales  flashed  with  a  hoc 
orange  gleam  in  its  angry  twistings  and  con 
tortions  ;  the  moment  it  struck  the  liquid  it 
became  rigid  and  sank  heavily  to  the  bottom. 
Then  came  the  milky  foam,  the  splendid  hues 
radiating  on  the  surface  and  then  the  shaft  of 
pure  serene  light  broke  through  from  seem 
ingly  infinite  depths.  Boris  plunged  in  his 
hand  and  drew  out  an  exquisite  marble  thing, 
blue-veined,  rose-tinted  and  glistening-  with 
opalescent  drops. 

"Child's  play,"  he  muttered,  and  looked 
•wearily,  longingly  at  me, — as  if  I  could  answer 
such  questions  !  But  Jack  Scott  came  in  and 
entered  into  the  "  game  "  as  he  called  it  with 
ardor.  Nothing  would  do  but  to  try  the  ex 
periment  on  the  white  rabbit  then  and  there.  I 
was  willing  that  Boris  should  find  distraction 
from  his  cares,  but  I  hated  to  see  the  life  go 
out  of  a  warm,  living  creature  and  I  declined 
to  be  present.  Picking  up  a  book  at  random 
I  sat  down  in  the  studio  to  read.  Alas,  I  had 
found  "  The  King  in  Yellow."  Alter  a  few 
moments  which  seemed  ages,  I  \vas  putting  it 
away  with  a  nervous  shudder,  when  Boris  and 
Jack  came  in  bringing  their  marble  rabbit.  At 
the  same  time  the  bell  rang  above  and  a  cry 
came  from  the  sick  room.  Boris  was  gone 
like  a  flash,  and  the  next  moment  he  called, 
31  Jack,  run  for  the  doctor  ;  bring  him  back 
with  you.  Alec,  come  here." 

I  went  and  stood  at  her  door.  A  fright 
ened  maid  came  out  in  haste  and  ran  away 


THE  MASK.  yj 

to  fetch  some  remedy.  Genevieve,  sitting 
bolt  upright,  with  crimson  cheeks  and 
glittering-  eyes,  babbled  incessantly  and  re 
sisted  Boris'  gentle  restraint.  He  called  me 
to  help.  At  my  first  touch  she  sighed  and 
sank  back,  closing  her  eyes,  and  then — 
then  —  as  we  still  bent  above  her,  she 
opened  them  again,  looked  straight  into  Boris* 
face,  poor  fever-crazed  girl,  and  told  her 
secret.  At  the  same  instant,  our  three  lives 
turned  into  new  channels  ;  the  bond  that  had 
held  us  so  long  together  snapped  forever 
and  a  new  bond  was  forged  in  its  place,  for 
she  had  spoken  my  name,  and  as  the  fever 
tortured  her,  her  heart  poured  out  its  load  of 
hidden  sorrow.  Amazed  and  dumb  I  bowed 
my  head,  while  my  face  burned  like  a  live 
coal,  and  the  blood  surged  in  my  ears,  stupe 
fying  me  with  its  clamor.  Incapable  of  move 
ment,  incapable  of  speech,  I  listened  to  her 
feverish  words  in  an  agony  of  shame  and  sor 
row.  I  could  not  silence  her,  I  could  not  look 
at  Boris.  Then  I  felt  an  arm  upon  my  shoul 
der,  and  Boris  turned  a  bloodless  face  to  mine. 
"  It  is  not  your  fault,  Alec,  don't  grieve  so 
if  she  loves  you —  •"  but  he  could  not  finish  ; 
and  as  the  doctor  stepped  swiftly  into  the 
room  saying — "  Ah,  the  fever  !  "  I  seized  Jack 
Scott  and  hurried  him  to  the  street  saying, 
"  Boris  would  rather  be  alone."  We  crossed 
the  street  to  our  own  apartments  and  that 
night,  seeing  I  was  going  to  be  ill  too,  he 
went  for  the  doctor  again.  The  last  thing  I 
recollect  with  any  distinctness  was  hearing 
Jack  say,  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  doctor,  what 
ails  him,  to  wear  a  face  like  that  ?  "  and  I 
thought  of  "The  King  in  Yellow"  and  the 
Pallid  Mask. 


,2  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

I  was  very  ill,  for  the  strain  of  two  years 
which  I  had  endured  since  that  fatal  May 
morning  when  Genevieve  murmured,  "  I 
love  you,  but  I  think  I  love  Boris  best "  told 
on  me  at  last.  I  had  never  imagined  that  it 
could  become  more  than  I  could  endure. 
Outwardly  tranquil,  I  had  deceived  myself 
Although  the  inward  battle  raged  night  after 
night,  and  I,  lying  alone  in  my  room,  cursed 
myself  for  rebellious  thoughts  unloyal  to  Boris 
and  unworthy  of  Genevieve,  the  morning 
always  brought  relief,  and  I  returned  to  Gen 
evieve  and  to  my  dear  Boris  with  a  heart 
washed  clean  by  the  tempests  of  the  night. 

Never  in  word  or  deed  or  thought  while 
with  them,  had  I  betrayed  my  sorrow  even  to 
myself. 

The  mask  of  self-deception  was  no  longer  a 
mask  for  me,  it  was  a  part  of  me.  Night 
lifted  it,  laying  bare  the  stifled  truth  below  ; 
but  there  was  no  one  to  see  except  myself,  and 
when  day  broke  the  mask  fell  back  again  of 
its  own  accord.  These  thoughts  passed 
through  my  troubled  mind  as  I  lay  sick,  but 
they  were  hopelessly  entangled  writh  visions 
of  white  creatures,  heavy  as  stone,  crawling 
about  in  Boris'  basin, — of  the  wolfs  head 
on  the  rug,  foaming  and  snapping  at  Gene 
vieve,  who  lay  smiling  beside  it.  I  thought,  too, 
of  The  King  in  Yellow  wrapt  in  the 
fantastic  colors  of  his  tattered  mantle,  and 
that  bitter  cry  of  Cassilda,  "  Not  upon  us,  oh 
King,  not  upon  us  ! "  Feverishly  I  struggled 
to  put  it  from  me,  but  I  saw  the  lake  of  Hali, 
thin  and  blank,  without  a  ripple  or  wind  to 
stir  it,  and  I  saw  the  towers  of  Carcosa  behind 
the  moon.  Aldebaran,  The  Hyades,  Alar, 
Hastur,  glided  through  the  cloud  rifts  which 


THE  MASK.  73 

fluttered  and  flapped  as  they  passed  like  the 
scolloped  tatters  of  The  King  in  Yellow.  Amonsr 
ill  these,  one  sane  thought  persisted.  It  never 
Jvavered,  no  matter  what  else  was  going  on 
m  my  disordered  mind,  that  my  chief  reason 
for  existing,  was  to  meet  some  requirement  of 
Boris  and  Genevieve.  What  this  obligation 
was,  its  nature,  was  never  clear  ;  sometimes 
it  seemed  to  be  protection,  sometimes  support, 
through  a  great  crisis.  Whatever  it  seemed 
to  be  for  the  time,  its  weight  rested  only  on 
me,  and  I  was  never  so  ill  or  so  weak  that  I 
did  not  respond  with  my  whole  soul.  There 
were  always  crowds  of  faces  about  me, 
mostly  strange,  but  a  few  I  recognized,  Boris 
among  them.  Afterward  they  told  me  that 
this  could  not  have  been,  but  I  know  that 
once  at  least  he  bent  over  me.  It  was  only  a 
touch,  a  faint  echo  of  his  voice,  then  the 
clouds  settled  back  on  my  senses,  and  I  lost 
him,  but  he  did  stand  there  and  bend  over  me 
once  at  least. 

At  last,  one  morning  I  awoke  to  find  the 
sunlight  falling  across  my  bed,  and  Jack 
Scott  reading  beside  me.  I  had  not  strength 
enough  to  speak  aloud,  neither  could  I  think, 
much  less  remember,  but  I  could  smile  feebly, 
as  Jack's  eye  met  mine,  and  when  he  jumped 
up  and  asked  eagerly  if  I  wanted  anything,  I 
could  whisper,  "  Yes,  Boris."  Jack  moved  to 
the  head  of  my  bed,  and  leaned  down  to  ar 
range  my  pillow  :  I  did  not  see  his  face,  but 
he  answered  heartily,  "  You  must  wait  Alec, 
you  are  too  weak  to  see  even  Boris." 

I  waited  and  I  grew  strong  ;  in  a  few  days 
I  was  able  to  see  whom  I  would,  but  mean 
while  I  had  thought  and  remembered.  From 
the  moment  when  all  the  past  grew  clear 


74 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


again  in  my  mind,  I  never  doubted  what  I 
should  do  when  the  time  came,  and  I  felt 
sure  that  Boris  would  have  resolved  upon 
the  same  course  so  far  as  he  was  con 
cerned  ;  as  for  what  pertained  to  me  alone,  I 
knew  he  would  see  that  also  as  I  did.  I  no 
longer  asked  for  any  one.  I  never  inquired 
why  no  message  came  from  them  ;  why  during 
the  week  I  lay  there,  waiting  and  growing 
stronger,  I  never  heard  their  name  spoken. 
Preoccupied  with  my  own  searchings  for  the 
right  way,  and  with  my  feeble  but  determined 
fight  against  despair,  I  simply  acquiesced  in 
Jack's  reticence,  taking  for  granted  that  he 
was  afraid  to  speak  of  them,  lest  I  should  turn 
unruly  and  insist  on  seeing  them.  Mean 
while  I  said  over  and  over  to  myself,  how 
it  would  be  when  life  began  again  for  us  all. 
We  would  take  up  our  relations  exactly  as 
they  were  before  Genevieve  fell  ill.  Boris 
and  I  would  look  into  each  other's  eyes  and 
there  would  be  neither  rancor  nor  cowardice 
nor  mistrust  in  that  glance.  I  would  be  with 
them  again  for  a  little  while  in  the  dear  in 
timacy  of  their  home,  and  then,  without  pre 
text  or  explanation,  I  would  disappear  from 
their  lives  forever.  Boris  would  know, 
Genevieve — the  only  comfort  was  that  she 
would  never  know.  It  seemed,  as  I  thought 
it  over,  that  I  had  found  the  meaning  of  that 
sense  of  obligation  which  had  persisted  all 
through  my  delirium,  and  the  only  possible 
answer  to  it.  So,  when  I  was  quite  ready,  I 
beckoned  Jack  to  me  one  day,  and  said, 

"  Jack,  I  want  Boris  at  once  ;  and  take  my 
dearest  greeting  to  Genevieve " 

When  at  last  he  made  me  understand 
that  they  were  both  dead,  I  fell  into  a  wild 


THE  MASK.  ye 

rage  that  tore  all  my  little'  convalescent 
strength  to  atoms.  I  raved  and  cursed  my 
self  into  a  relapse,  from  which  I  crawled  forth 
some  weeks  afterward  a  boy  of  twenty-one 
who  believed  that  his  youth  was  gone  forever. 
I  seemed  to  be  past  the  capability  of  further 
suffering,  and  one  day  when  Jack  handed  me 
a  letter  and  the  keys  to  Boris'  house,  I  took 
them  without  a  tremor  and  asked  him  to  tell 
me  all.  It  was  cruel  of  me  to  ask  him,  but 
there  was  no  help  for  it,  and  he  leaned  wearily 
on  his  thin  hands,  to  reopen  the  wound  which 
could  never  entirely  heal.  He  began  very 
quietly. 

"  Alec,  unless  you  have  a  clue  that  I  know 
nothing  about,  you  will  not  be  able  to  explain 
any  more  than  I,  what  has  happened.  I  sus 
pect  that  you  would  rather  not  hear  these  de 
tails,  but  you  must  learn  them,  else  I  would 
spare  you  the  relation.  God  knows  I  wish  I 
could  be  spared  the  telling.  I  shall  use  few 
words. 

"  That  day  when  I  left  you  in  the  doctor's 
care  and  came  back  to  Boris,  I  found  him 
working  on  the  'Fates.'  Genevieve,  he  said, 
was  sleeping  under  the  influence  of  drugs. 
She  had  been  quite  out  of  her  mind,  he  said. 
He  kept  on  working,  not  talking  any  more, 
and  I  watched  him.  Before  long,  I  saw  that 
the  third  figure  of  the  group — the  one  looking 
straight  ahead,  out  over  the  world — bore  his 
face  ;  not  as  you  ever  saw  it,  but  as  it  looked 
then  and  to  the  end.  This  is  one  thing  for 
which  I  should  like  to  find  an  explanation,  but 
I  never  shall. 

"  Well,  he  worked  and  I  watched  him  in 
silence,  and  we  went  on  that  way  until  nearly 
midnight.  Then  we  heard  -a  door  open  and 


yg  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

shut  sharply,  and  a  swift  rush  in  the  next 
room.  Boris  sprang  through  the  doorway 
and  I  followed  ;  but  we  were  too  late.  She 
lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  pool,  her  hands  across 
her  breast.  Then  Boris  shot  himself  through 
the  heart."  Jack  stopped  speaking,  drops  of 
sweat  stood  under  his  eyes,  and  his  thin  cheeks 
twitched.  "  I  carried  Boris  to  his  room. 
Then  I  went  back  and  let  that  hellish  fluid 
out  of  the  pool,  and  turning  on  all  the  water, 
washed  the  marble  clean  of  every  drop. 
When  at  length  I  dared  descend  the  steps,  I 
found  her  lying  there  as  white  as  snow.  At 
last,  when  I  had  decided  what  was  best  to  do, 
I  went  into  the  laboratory,  and  first  emptied 
the  solution  in  the  basin  into  the  waste-pipe  ; 
then  I  poured  the  contents  of  every  jar  and 
bottle  after  it.  There  was  wood  in  the  fire 
place,  so  I  built  a  fire,  and  breaking  the  locks 
of  Boris'  cabinet  I  burnt  every  paper,  note 
book  and  letter  that  I  found  there.  With  a 
mallet  from  the  studio  I  smashed  to  pieces 
all  the  empty  bottles,  then  loading  them  into 
a  coal  scuttle,  I  carried  them  to  the  cellar  and 
threw  them  over  the  red-hot  bed  of  the  fur 
nace.  Six  times  I  made  the  journey,  and  at 
last,  not  a  vestige  remained  ot  anything  which 
might  again  aid  in  seeking  for  the  formula 
which  Boris  had  found.  Then  at  last  I  dared 
call  the  doctor.  He  is  a  good  man,  and  to 
gether  we  struggled  to  keep  it  from  the  public. 
Without  him  I  never  could  have  succeeded. 
At  last  we  got  the  servants  paid  and  sent  away 
into  the  country,  where  old  Rosier  keeps  them 
quiet  with  stories  of  Boris'  and  Genevieve's 
travels  in  distant  lands,  from  whence  they  will 
not  return  for  years.  We  buried  Boris  in  the 
little  cemetery  of  Sevres.  The  doctor  is  a 


THE  MASK.  i^ 

good  creature  and  knows  when  to  pity  a  man 
who  can  bear  no  more.  He  gave  his  certifi 
cate  of  heart  disease  and  asked  no  questions 
of  me." 

Then  lifting  his  head  from  his  hands,  he 
said,  "  Open  the  letter,  Alec  ;  it  is  for  us 
both." 

I  tore  it  open.  It  was  Boris*  will  dated  a 
year  before.  He  left  everything  to  Genevieve, 
and  in  case  of  her  dying  childless,  I  was  to 
take  control  of  the  house  in  the  Rue  Sainte- 
Cecile,  and  Jack  Scott,  the  management  at 
Ept.  On  our  deaths  the  property  reverted  to 
his  mother's  family  in  Russia,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  the  sculptured  marbles  executed  by  him 
self.  These  he  left  to  me. 

The  page  blurred  under  our  eyes,  and  Jack 
got  up  and  walked  to  the  window.  Presently 
he  returned  and  sat  down  again.  I  dreaded 
to  hear  what  he  was  going  to  say,  but  he  spoke 
with  the  same  simplicity  and  gentleness. 

"  Genevieve  lies  before  the  Madonna  in  the 
marble  room.  The  Madonna  bends  tenderly 
above  her,  and  Genevieve  smiles  back  into 
that  calm  face  that  never  would  have  been 
except  for  her." 

His  voice  broke,  but  he  grasped  my  hand, 
saying,  "  Courage,  Alec."  Next  morning  he 
left  for  Ept  to  fulfil  his  trust. 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


IV. 

HE  same  evening  I  took  the  keys  an-d 
went  into  the  house  I  had  known  so 
well.  Everything  was  in  order,  but 
the  silence  was  terrible.  Though  I 
went  twice  to  the  door  of  the  marble  room,  I 
could  not  force  myself  to  enter.  It  was 
beyond  my  strength.  I  went  into  the  smok 
ing-room  and  sat  down  before  the  spinet.  A 
small  lace  handkerchief  lay  on  the  keys,  and 
I  turned  away,  choking.  It  was  plain  I  could 
not  stay,  so  I  locked  every  door,  every  window, 
and  the  three  front  and  back  gates,  and  went 
away.  Next  morning  Alcide  packed  my  valise, 
and  leaving  him  in  charge  of  my  apartments 
I  took  the  Orient  express  for  Constantinople. 
During  the  two  years  that  I  wandered  through 
the  East,  at  first,  in  our  letters,  we  never  men 
tioned  Genevieve  and  Boris,  but  gradually 
their  names  crept  in.  I  recollect  particularly 
a  passage  in  one  of  Jack's  letters  replying  to 
one  of  mine. 

"  What  you  tell  me  of  seeing  Boris  bending 
over  you  while  you  lay  ill,  and  feeling  his  touch 
on  your  face,  and  hearing  his  voice  of  course 
troubles  me.  This  that  you  describe  must 
have  happened  a  fortnight  after  he  died.  I 
say  to  myself  that  you  were  dreaming,  that  it 
was  part  of  your  delirium,  but  the  explanation 
does  not  satisfy  me,  nor  would  it  you." 

Toward  the  end  of  the  second  year  a  letter 
came  from  Jack  to  me  in  India  so  unlike  any 


THE  MASK.  79 

thing  that  I  had  ever  known  of  him  that  I  de 
cided  to  return  at  once  to  Paris.  He  wrote, 
"  I  am  well  and  sell  all  my  pictures  as  artists 
do,  who  have  no  need  of  money.  I  have  not  a 
care  of  my  own,  but  I  am  more  restless  than 
if  I  had.  I  am  unable  to  shake  off  a  strange 
anxiety  about  you.  It  is  not  apprehension,  it 
is  rather  a  breathless  expectancy,  of  what, 
God  knows !  I  can  only  say  it  is  wearing  me 
out.  Nights  I  dream  always  of  you  and  Boris. 
I  can  never  recall  anything  afterward,  but  I 
wake  in  the  morning  with  my  heart  beating, 
and  all  day  the  excitement  increases  until  I 
fall  asleep  at  night  to  recall  the  same  experi 
ence.  I  am  quite  exhausted  by  it,  and  have 
determined  to  break  up  this  morbid  condition. 
I  must  see  you.  Shall  I  go  to  Bombay  or 
will  you  come  to  Paris  ?  " 

I  telegraphed  him  to  expect  me  by  the  next 
steamer. 

When  we  met  I  thought  he  had  changed 
very  little  ;  I,  he  insisted,  looked  in  splendid 
health.  It  was  good  to  hear  his  voice  again, 
and  as  we  sat  and  chatted  about  what  life  still 
held  for  us,  we  felt  that  it  was  pleasant  to  be 
alive  in  the  bright  spring  weather. 

We  stayed  in  Paris  together  a  week,  and 
then  I  went  for  a  week  to  Ept  with  him,  but 
first  of  all  we  went  to  the  cemetery  at  Sevres, 
where  Boris  lay. 

"Shall  we  place  the  'Fates 'in  the  little 
grove  above  him  ?  "  Jack  asked,  and  I 
answered, 

"  I  think  only  the  «  Madonna  '  should  watch 
over  Boris'  grave."  But  Jack  was  none  the 
better  for  my  home-coming.  The  dreams  of 
which  he  could  not  retain  even  the  least 
definite  outline  continued,  and  he  said  that  at 


go  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

times  the  sense  of  breathless  expectancy  was 
suffocating. 

"  You  see  I  do  you  harm  and  not  good,"  I 
said.  "Try  a  change  without  me."  So  he 
started  alone  for  a  ramble  among  the  Channel 
Islands  and  I  went  back  to  Paris.  I  had  not 
yet  entered  Boris'  house,  now  mine,  since  my 
return,  but  I  knew  it  must  be  done.  It  had 
been  kept  in  order  by  Jack  ;  there  were  servants 
there,  so  I  gave  up  my  own  apartment  and  went 
there  to  live.  Instead  of  the  agitation  I  had 
feared,  I  found  myself  able  to  paint  there 
tranquilly.  I  visited  all  the  rooms — all  but 
one.  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  enter  the 
marble  room  where  Genevieve  lay,  and  yet  I 
felt  the  longing  growing  daily  to  look  upon 
her  face,  to  kneel  beside  her. 

One  April  afternoon,  I  lay  dreaming  in  the 
smoking-  room,  just  as  I  had  lain  two  years 
before,  and  mechanically  I  looked  among 
the  tawny  Eastern  rugs  for  the  wolf-skin. 
At  last  I  distinguished  the  pointed  ears  and 
flat  cruel  head,  and  I  thought  of  my  dream 
where  I  saw  Genevieve  lying  beside  it.  The 
helmets  still  hung  against  the  threadbare 
tapestry,  among  them  the  old  Spanish  morion 
which  I  remembered  Genevieve  had  once  put 
on  when  we  were  amusing  ourselves  with  the 
ancient  bits  of  mail.  I  turned  my  eyes  to  the 
spinet ;  every  yellow  key  seemed  eloquent  of 
her  caressing  hand,  and  I  rose,  drawn  by  the 
strength  of  my  life's  passion  to  the  sealed  door 
of  the  marble  room.  The  heavy  doors  swung 
inward  under  my  trembling  hands.  Sun 
light  poured  through  the  window,  tipping  with 
gold  the  wings  of  Cupid,  and  lingered  like  a 
nimbus  over  the  brows  of  the  Madonna.  Her 
tender  face  bent  in  compassion  over  a  marble 


THE  MASK.  gt 

form  so  exquisitely  pure  that  I  knelt  and 
signed  myself.  Genevieve  lay  in  the  shadow 
under  the  Madonna,  and  yet,  through  her 
white  arms,  I  saw  the  pale  azure  vein,  and 
beneath  her  softly  clasped  hands  the  folds  of 
her  dress  were  tinged  with  rose,  as  if  from 
some  faint  warm  light  within  her  breast. 

Bending  with  a  breaking  heart  I  touched 
the  marble  drapery  with  my  lips,  then  crept 
back  into  the  silent  house. 

A  maid  came  and  brought  me  a  letter,  and 
I  sat  down  in  the  little  conservatory  to  read 
it ;  but  as  I  was  about  to  break  the  seal, 
seeing  the  girl  lingering,  I  asked  her  what  she 
wanted. 

She  stammered  something  about  a  white 
rabbit  that  had  been  caught  in  the  house  and 
asked  what  should  be  done  with  it.  I  told 
her  to  let  it  loose  in  the  walled  garden  behind 
the  house  and  opened  my  letter.  It  was  from 
Jack,  but  so  incoherent  that  I  thought  he  must 
have  lost  his  reason.  It  was  nothing  but  a 
series  ot  prayers  to  me  not  to  leave  the  house 
until  he  could  get  back  ;  he  could  not  tell  me 
why,  there  were  the  dreams,  he  said — he 
could  explain  nothing,  but  he  was  sure  that  I 
must  not  leave  the  house  in  the  Rue  Sainte- 
C£cile. 

As  I  finished  reading  I  raised  my  eyes  and 
saw  the  same  maid-servant  standing  in  the 
doorway  holding  a  glass  dish  in  which  two 
gold  fish  were  swimming  :  "  Put  them  back 
into  the  tank  and  tell  me  what  you  mean  by 
interrupting  me,"  I  said. 

With  a  half  suppressed  whimper  she  emptied 

water  and  fish  into  an  aquarium  at  the  end  of 

the  conservatory,  and  turning  to  me  asked  my 

permission  to  leave  my  service.     She  said  peo- 

6 


§2  IKE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

pie  were  playing  tricks  on  her,  evidently  with 
a  design  of  getting  her  into  trouble ;  the 
marble  rabbit  had  been  stolen  and  a  live  one 
had  been  brought  into  the  house  ;  the  two 
beautiful  marble  fish  were  gone  and  she  had 
just  found  those  common  live  things  flopping 
on  the  dining-room  floor.  I  reassured  her 
and  sent  her  away  saying  I  would  look  about 
myself.  I  went  into  the  studio  ;  there  was 
nothing  there  but  my  canvasses  and  some 
casts,  except  the  marble  of  the  Easter  Lily.  I 
saw  it  on  a  table  across  the  room.  Then  I 
strode  angrily  over  to  it.  But  the  flower  I 
lifted  from  the  table  was  fresh  and  fragile  and 
filled  the  air  with  perfume. 

Then  suddenly  I  comprehended  and  sprang 
through  the  hall-way  to  the  marble  room. 
The  doors  flew  open,  the  sunlight  streamed 
into  my  face  and  through  it,  in  a  heavenly 

flory,    the    Madonna    smiled,    as   Genevieve 
fted  her  flushed  face  from  her  marble  couch, 
and  opened  her  sleepy  eyes. 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  DRAGON, 


IN   THE  COURT  OF  THE  DRAGON. 

•'  Oh  Thou  who  burn'st  in  heart  for  those  who  burn 
In  Hell,  whose  fires  thyself  shall  feed  in  turn ; 
How  long  be  crying,—'  Mercy  on  them,  God  ! 
Why,  who  art  thou  to  teach  and  He  to  learn  ?  " 

N  the  Church  of  St.  Barnabe*  vespers 
were  over  ;  the  clergy  left  the  altar  ; 
the  little  choir-boys  flocked  across 
the  chancel  and  settled  in  the  stalls. 
A  Suisse  in  rich  uniform  marched  down  the 
south  aisle,  sounding  his  staff  at  every  fourth 
step  on  the  stone  pavement  ;  behind  him  came 
that  eloquent  preacher  and  good  man,  Mon- 

seigneur  C . 

My  chair  was  near  the  chancel  rail.  I  now 
turned  toward  the  west  end  of  the  church.  The 
other  people  between  the  altar  and  the  pulpit 
turned  too.  There  was  a  little  scraping  and 
rustling  while  the  congregation  seated  itself 
again  ;  the  preacher  mounted  the  pulpit  stairs, 
and  the  organ  voluntary  ceased. 

I  had  always  found  the  organ-playing  at 
St.  Barnabg  highly  interesting.  Learned  and 
scientific  it  was,  too  much  so  for  my  small 
knowledge,  but  expressing  a  vivid  if  cold  in 
telligence.  Moreover,  it  possessed  the  French 
quality  of  taste  ;  taste  reigned  supreme, 
self-controlled,  dignified  and  reticent. 

To-day,  however,  from  the  first  chord  I 
had  felt  a  change  for  the  worse,  a  sinister 
change.  During  vespers  it  had  been  chiefly 


36  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

the  chancel  organ  which  supported  the  beauti 
ful  choir,  but  now  and  again,  quite  wantonly 
as  it  seemed,  from  the  west  gallery  where  the 
great  organ  stands,  a  heavy  hand  had  struck 
across  the  church,  at  the  serene  peace  of  those 
clear  voices.  It  was  something  more  than 
harsh  and  dissonant,  and  it  betrayed  no  lack 
of  skill.  As  it  recurred  again  and  again,  it 
set  me  thinking  of  what  my  architect's  books 
say  about  the  custom  in  early  times  to  conse 
crate  the  choir  as  soon  as  it  was  built,  and 
that  the  nave,  being  finished  sometimes  half 
a  century  later,  often  did  not  get  any  blessing 
at  all :  I  wondered  idly  if  that  had  been  the 
case  at  St.  Barnab6,  and  whether  something 
not  usually  supposed  to  be  at  home  in  a 
Christian  church,  might  have  entered  unde 
tected,  and  taken  possession  of  the  west  gal 
lery.  I  had  read  of  such  things  happening 
too,  but  not  in  works  on  architecture. 

Then  I  remembered  that  St.  Barnabe"  was 
not  much  more  than  a  hundred  years  old, 
and  smiled  at  the  incongruous  association  of 
mediaeval  superstitions  with  that  cheerful 
little  piece  of  eighteenth  century  rococo. 

But  now  vespers  were  over,  and  there 
should  have  followed  a  few  quiet  chords,  fit  to 
accompany  meditation,  while  we  waited  for 
the  sermon.  Instead  of  that.,  the  discord  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  church  broke  out  with 
the  departure  of  the  clergy,  as  if  now  nothing 
could  control  it. 

I  belong  to  those  children  of  an  older  and 
simpler  generation,  who  do  not  love  to  seek 
for  psychological  subtleties  in  art ;  and  I 
have  ever  refused  to  find  in  music  anything 
more  than  melody  and  harmony,  but  I  felt 
that  in  the  labyrinth  of  sounds  now  issuing 


J.V  THE  COURT  OF  THE  DRAGON.          g; 

from  that  instrument  there  was  something 
being  hunted.  Up  and  down  the  pedals  chased 
him,  while  the  manuals  blared  approval.  Poor 
devil  !  whoever  he  was,  there  seemed  small 
hope  of  escape  ! 

My  nervous  annoyance  changed  to  anger . 
Who  was  doing  this  ?  How  dare  he  play  like 
that  in  the  midst  of  divine  service  ?  I  glanced 
at  the  people  near  me  :  not  one  appeared  to 
be  in  the  least  disturbed.  The  placid  brows 
of  the  kneeling  nuns,  still  turned  toward  the 
altar,  lost  none  of  their  devout  abstraction, 
under  the  pale  shadow  of  their  white  head 
dress.  The  fashionable  lady  beside  me  was 

looking  expectantly  at  MonseigneurC . 

For  all  her  face  betrayed,  the  organ  might  have 
been  singing  an  Ave  Maria. 

But  now,  at  last,  the  preacher  had  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  and  commanded  silence.  I 
turned  to  him  gladly.  Thus  far  I  had  not 
found  the  rest  I  had  counted  on,  when  I  en 
tered  St.  Barnabe'  that  afternoon. 

I  was  worn  out  by  three  nights  of  physical 
suffering  and  mental  trouble  :  the  last  had 
been  the  worst,  and  it  was  an  exhausted  body, 
and  a  mind  benumbed  and  yet  acutely  sensi 
tive,  \vhich  I  had  brought  to  my  favorite 
church  for  healing.  For  I  had  been  reading 
"  The  King  in  Yellow." 

"The  sun  ariseth  ;  they  gather  themselves 
together  and  lay  them  down  in  their  dens." 

Monseigneur  C .delivered  his  text  in  a 

calm  voice,  glancing  quietly  over  the  congre 
gation.  My  eyes  turned,  I  knew  not  why, 
toward  the  lower  end  of  the  church.  The  or 
ganist  was  coming  from  behind  his  pipes,  and 
passing  along  the  gallery  on  his  way  out,  I  saw 
him  disappear  by  a  small  door  that  leads  to 


gg  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

some  stairs  which  descend  directly  to  the 
street.  He  was  a  slender  man,  and  his  face 
was  as  white  as  his  coat  was  black.  "  Good 
riddance  !  "  I  thought,  "  with  your  wicked 
music  !  I  hope  your  assistant  will  play  the 
closing  voluntary." 

With  a  feeling  of  relief,  with  a  deep,  calm 
feeling  of  relief,  I  turned  back  to  the  mild  face 
in  the  pulpit,  and  settled  myself  to  listen. 
Here  at  last,  was  the  ease  of  mind  I  longed 
for. 

"  My  children,"  §aid  the  preacher,  "  one 
truth  the  human  soul  finds  hardest  of  all  to 
learn  ;  that  it  has  nothing  to  fear.  It  can 
never  be  made  to  see  that  nothing  can  really 
harm  it." 

"  Curious  doctrine  !  "  I  thought,  "  for  a 
Catholic  priest.  Let  us  see  how  he  will  rec 
oncile  that  with  the  Fathers." 

"  Nothing  can  really  harm  the  soul,"  he 
went  on,  in  his  coolest,  clearest  tones,  "  be 
cause " 

But  I  never  heard  the  rest  ;  my  eye  left  his 
face,  I  knew  not  for  what  reason,  and  sought 
the  lower  end  of  the  church.  The  same  man 
was  coming  out  from  behind  the  organ,  and 
was  passing  along  the  gallery  the  same  way. 
But  there  had  not  been  time  for  him  to  re 
turn,  and  if  he  had  returned,  I  must  have 
seen  him.  I  felt  a  faint  chill,  and  my  heart 
sank  ;  and  yet,  his  going  and  coming  were.no 
affair  of  mine.  I  looked  at  him  :  I  could  not  look 
away  from  his  black  figure  and  his  white  face. 
When  he  was  exactly  opposite  to  me,  he  turned 
and  sent  across  the  church,  straight  into  my 
eyes,  a  look  of  hate,  intense  and  deadly  :  I 
have  never  seen  any  other  like  it  ;  would  to 
God  I  might  never  see  it  again  !  Then  he 


IN  THE  COURT  OF  THE  DRAGON;          g^ 

disappeared  by  the  same  door  through  which 
I  had  watched  him  depart  less  than  sixty 
seconds  before. 

I  sat  and  tried  to  collect  my  thoughts.  My 
first  sensation  was  like  that  of  a  very  young 
child  badly  hurt,  when  it  catches  its  breath 
before  crying  out. 

To  suddenly  find  myself  the  object  of  such 
hatred  was  exquisitely  painful  :  and  this  man 
was  an  utter  stranger.  Why  should  he  hate 
me  so  ?  Me,  whom  he  had  never  seen  be 
fore  ?  For  the  moment  all  other  sensation 
was  merged  in  this  one  pang  :  even  fear  was 
subordinate  to  grief,  and  for  that  moment  I 
never  doubted  ;  but  in  the  next  I  began  to 
reason,  and  a  sense  of  the  incongruous  came 
to  my  aid. 

As  I  have  said,  St.  Barnabe'  is  a  modern 
church.  It  is  small  and  well  lighted  ;  one 
sees  all  over  it  almost  at  a  glance.  The 
organ  gallery  gets  a  strong  white  light  from  a 
row  of  long  windows  in  the  clere-story,  which 
have  not  even  colored  glass. 

The  pulpit  being  in  the  middle  of  the 
church,  it  followed  that,  when  I  was  turned 
toward  it,  whatever  moved  at  the  west  end 
could  not  fail  to  attract  my  eye.  When  the 
organist  passed  it  was  no  wonder  that  I  saw 
him  :  I  had  simply  miscalculated  the  interval 
between  his  first  and  his  second  passing.  He 
had  come  in  that  last  time  by  the  other  side- 
door.  As  for  the  look  which  had  so  upset 
me,  there  had  been  no  such  thing,  and  I  was 
a  nervous  fool. 

I  looked  about.  This  was  a  likely  place  to 
harbor  supernatural  horrors  !  That  clear-cut, 
reasonable  face  of  Monseigneur  C ,  his  col 
lected  manner,  and  easy,  graceful  gestures, 


g0  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

were  they  not  just  a  little  discouraging  to  the 
notion  of  a  gruesome  mystery  ?  I  glanced 
above  his  head,  and  almost  laughed.  That 
flyaway  lady,  supporting  one  corner  of  the 
pulpit  canopy,  which  looked  like  a  fringed 
damask  table-cloth  in  a  high  wind,  at  the 
first  attempt  of  a  basilisk  to  pose  up  there  in 
the  organ  loft,  she  would  point  her  gold 
trumpet  at  him,  and  puff  him  out  of  existence  ! 
I  laughed  to  myself  over  this  conceit,  which, 
at  the  time,  I  thought  very  amusing,  and  sat 
and  chaffed  myself  and  everything  else,  from 
the  old  harpy  outside  the  railing,  who  had 
made  me  pay  ten  centimes  for  my  chair,  be 
fore  she  would  let  me  in  (she  was  more  like 
a  basilisk,  I  told  myself,  than  was  my  or 
ganist  with  the  anaemic  complexion  )  :  from 
that  grim  old  dame,  to,  yes,  alas  !  to  Mon- 

seigneur  C ,  himself.     For  all  devoutness 

had  fled.  I  had  never  yet  done  such  a  thing  in 
my  life,  but  now  I  felt  a  desire  to  mock. 

As  for  the  sermon,  I  could  not  hear  a  word 
of  it,  for  the  jingle  in  my  ears  of 


'The  skirts  of  St.  Paul  has  reached." 
Having  preached  us  those  six  Lent  lecture*, 
More  unctuous  than  ever  he  preached  :  " 


keeping  time  to  the  most  fantastic  and  irrev 
erent  thoughts. 

It  was  no  use  to  sit  there  any  longer  :  I 
must  get  out  of  doors  and  shake  myself  free 
from  this  hateful  mood.  I  knew  the  rudeness 
I  was  committing,  but  still  I  rose  and  left  the 
church. 

A  spring  sun  was  shining  on  the  rue  St. 
Honore",  as  I  ran  down  the  church  steps.  On 
one  corner  stood  a  barrow  full  of  yellow  jon- 


IN  THE  COURT  OF  THE  DRAGON.          gi 

quils,  pale  violets  from  the  Riviera,  dark 
Russian  violets,  and  white  Roman  hyacinths 
in  a  golden  cloud  of  mimosa.  The  street 
was  full  of  Sunday  pleasure  seekers.  I  swung 
my  cane  and  laughed  with  the  rest.  Some 
one  overtook  and  passed  me.  He  never 
turned,  but  there  was  the  same  deadly  ma 
lignity  in  his  white  profile  that  there  had 
been  in  his  eyes.  I  watched  him  as  long  as  I 
could  see  him.  His  lithe  back  expressed  the 
same  menace  ;  every  step  that  carried  him 
away  from  me  seemed  to  bear  him  on  some 
errand  connected  with  my  destruction. 

I  was  creeping  along,  my  feet  almost  re 
fusing  to  move.  There  began  to  dawn  in  me 
a  sense  of  responsibility  for  something  long 
forgotten.  It  began  to  seem  as  if  I  deserved 
that  which  he  threatened  :  it  reached  a  long 
way  back — a  long,  long  way  back.  It  had 
lain  dormant  all  these  years :  it  was  there 
though,  and  presently  it  would  rise  and  con 
front  me.  But  I  would  try  to  escape  ;  and  I 
stumbled  as  best  I  could  into  the  rue  de 
Rivoli,  across  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  and 
on  to  the  Quai.  I  looked  with  sick  eyes  upon 
the  sun,  shining  through  the  white  foam  of 
the  fountain,  pouring  over  the  backs  of  the 
dusky  bronze  river-gods,  on  the  far-away  Arc, 
a  structure  of  amethyst  mist,  on  the  countless 
vistas  of  gray  stems  and  bare  branches  faintly 
green.  Then  I  saw  him  again  coming  down 
one  of  the  chestnut  alleys  of  the  Cours  la  Reine. 

I  left  the  river  side,  plunged  blindly  across 
to  the  Champs  Elyse'es  and  turned  toward  the 
Arc.  The  setting  sun  was  sending  its  rays 
along  the  green  sward  of  the  Rond-point :  in 
the  full  glow  he  sat  on  a  bench,  children  and 
young  mothers  all  about  him.  He  was 


02  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

nothing  but  a  Sunday  lounger,  like  the  others, 
like  myself.  I  said  the  words  almost  aloud, 
and  all  the  while  I  gazed  on  the  malignant 
hatred  of  his  face.  But  he  was  not  looking 
at  me.  I  crept  past  and  dragged  my  leaden 
feet  up  the  Avenue.  I  knew  that  every  time 
I  met  him  brought  him  nearer  to  the  accom 
plishment  of  his  purpose  and  my  fate.  And 
still  I  tried  to  save  myself. 

The  last  rays  of  sunset  were  pouring 
through  the  great  Arc.  I  passed  under  it, 
and  met  him  face  to  face.  I  had  left  him  far 
down  the  Champs  Elyse'es,  and  yet  he  came 
in  with  a  stream  of  people  who  were  return 
ing  from  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  He  came  so 
close  that  he  brushed  me.  His  slender  frame 
felt  like  iron  inside  its  loose  black  covering. 
He  showed  no  signs  of  haste,  nor  of  fatigue, 
nor  of  any  human  feeling.  His  whole  being 
expressed  but  one  thing  :  the  will,  and  the 
power  to  work  me  evil. 

In  anguish  I  watched  him,  where  he  went 
down  the  broad  crowded  Avenue,  that  was  all 
flashing  with  wheels  and  the  trappings  of 
horses,  and  the  helmets  of  the  Garde  Republi- 
caine. 

He  was  soon  lost  to  sight ;  then  I  turned 
and  fled.  Into  the  Bois,  and  far  out  beyond 
it — I  know  not  where  I  went,  but  after  a  long 
while  as  it  seemed  to  me,  night  had  fallen, 
and  I  found  myself  sitting  at  a  table  before  a 
small  cafe'.  I  had  wandered  back  into  the 
Bois.  It  was  hours  now  since  I  had  seen  him. 
Physical  fatigue,  and  mental  suffering  had 
left  me  no  more  power  to  think  or  feel.  I  was 
tired,  so  tired  !  I  longed  to  hide  away  in  my 
own  den.  I  resolved  to  go  home.  But  that 
was  a  long  way  off. 


IN  THE  COURT  OF  THE  DRAGON. 


93 


I  live  in  the  Court  ot  the  Dragon,  a  narrow 
passage  that  leads  from  the  rue  de  Rennes  to 
the  rue  du  Dragon. 

It  is  an  "  Impasse  ;  "  traversable  only  for 
foot  passengers.  Over  the  entrance  on  the 
rue  de  Rennes  is  a  balcony,  supported  by  art 
iron  dragon.  Within  the  court  tall  old  houses 
rise  on  either  side,  and  close  the  ends  that 
give  on  the  two  streets.  Huge  gates,  swung 
back  during  the  day  into  the  walls  of  the  deep 
archways,  close  this  court,  after  midnight,  and 
one  must  enter  then  by  ringing  at  certain  small 
doors  on  the  side.  The  sunken  pavement 
collects  unsavory  pools.  Steep  stairways 
pitch  down  to  doors  that  open  on  the  court. 
The  ground  floors  are  occupied  by  shops  of 
second-hand  dealers,  and  by  iron  workers. 
All  day  long  the  place  rings  with  the  clink  of 
hammers,  and  the  clang  of  metal  bars. 

Unsavory  as  it  is  below,  there  is  cheerful 
ness,  and  comfort,  and  hard,  honest  work 
above. 

Five  flights  up  are  the  ateliers  of  architects 
and  painters,  and  the  hiding-places  of  middle- 
aged  students  like  myself  who  want  to  live 
alone.  When  I  first  came  here  to  live  I  was 
young,  and  not  alone. 

I  had  to  walk  awhile  before  any  convey 
ance  appeared,  but  at  last,  when  I  had  almost 
reached  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  again,  an 
empty  cab  came  along  and  I  took  it. 

From  the  Arc  to  the  rue  de  Rennes  is  a 
drive  of  more  than  half  an  hour,  especially 
when  one  is  conveyed  by  a  tired  cab  horse 
that  has  been  at  the  mercy  of  Sunday  fete 
makers. 

There  had  been  time  before  I  passed  under 
the  Dragon's  wings,  to  meet  my  enemy  over 


04  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

and  over  again,  but  I  never  saw  him  once,  and 
now  refuge  was  close  at  hand. 

Before  the  wide  gateway  a  small  mob  of 
children  were  playing.  Our  concierge  and 
his  wife  walked  about  among  them  with  their 
black  poodle,  keeping  order  ;  some  couples 
were  waltzing  on  the  side-walk.  I  returned 
their  greetings  and  hurried  in. 

All  the  inhabitants  of  the  court  had  trooped 
out  into  the  street.  The  place  was  quite  de 
serted,  lighted  by  a  few  lanterns  hung  high 
up,  in  which  the  gas  burned  dimly. 

My  apartment  was  at  the  top  of  a  house, 
halfway  down  the  court,  reached  by  a  stair 
case  that  descended  almost  into  the  street, 
with  only  a  bit  of  passage-way  intervening.  I 
set  my  foot  on  the  threshold  of  the  open  door, 
the  friendly,  old  ruinous  stairs  rose  before  me, 
leading  up  to  rest  and  shelter.  Looking  back 
over  my  right  shoulder,  I  saw  him,  ten  paces 
off.  He  must  have  entered  the  court  with  me. 

He  was  coming  straight  on,  neither  slowly, 
nor  swiftly,  but  straight  on  to  me.  And  now 
he  was  looking  at  me.  For  the  first  time 
since  our  eyes  encountered  across  the  church 
they  met  now  again,  and  I  knew  that  the 
time  had  come. 

Retreating  backward,  down  the  .ourt,  I 
faced  him.  I  meant  to  escape  by  the  entrance 
on  the  rue  du  Dragon.  His  eyes  told  me 
that  I  never  should  escape. 

It  seemed  ages  while  we  were  going,  I  re 
treating,  he  advancing,  down  the  court  in 
perfect  silence  ;  but  at  last  I  felt  the  shadow 
of  the  archway,  and  the  next  step  brought  me 
within  it.  I  had  meant  to  turn  here  anr' 
spring  through  into  the  street.  But  thi 
shadow  was  not  that  of  an  archway ;  it  wao 


IN  THE  COURT  OF  THE  DRAGON. 


95 


that  of  a  vault.  The  great  doors  on  the  rue 
du  Dragon  were  closed.  I  felt  this  by  the 
blackness  which  surrounded  me,  and  at  the 
same  instant  I  read  it  in  his  face.  How  his  face 
gleamed  in  the  darkness,  drawing  swiftly 
nearer  !  The  deep  vaults,  the  huge  closed 
doors  their  cold  iron  clamps  were  all  on  his 
side.  The  thing  which  he  had  threatened  had 
arrived  :  it  gathered  and  bore  down  on  me 
from  the  fathomless  shadows  ;  the  point  from 
which  it  would  strike  was  his  infernal  eyes. 
Hopeless  I  set  my  back  against  the  barred 
doors  and  defied  him. 

There  was  a  scraping  of  chairs  on  the  stone 
floor,  and  a  rustling  as  the  congregation  rose. 
I  could  hear  the  Suisse's  staff  in  the  south  aisle, 
preceding  Monseigneur  C to  the  sacristy. 

The  kneeling  nuns,  roused  from  their  devout 
abstraction,  made  their  reverence  and  went 
away.  The  fashionable  lady,  my  neighbor, 
rose  also,  with  graceful  reserve.  As  she  de 
parted  her  glance  just  flitted  over  my  face  in 
disapproval. 

Half  dead,  or  so  it  seemed  to  me,  yet  in 
tensely  alive  to  every  trifle,  I  sat  among  the 
leisurely  moving  crowd,  then  rose  too  and 
went  toward  the  door. 

1  had  slept  through  the  sermon.  Had  I 
slept  through  the  sermon?  I  looked  up  and 
saw  him  passing  along  the  gallery  to  his  place. 
Only  his  side  I  saw  ;  the  thin  bent  arm  in  its 
black  covering  looked  like  one  of  those 
devilish,  nameless  instruments  which  lie  in 
the  disused  torture  chambers  of  mediaeval 
castles. 

But  I  had  escaped  him,  though  his  eyes  had 
said  1  should  not.  Had  I  escaped  him  ?  That 


gg  THE  KING  IN  YELLOH\ 

which  gave  him  the  power  over  me  came  back 
out  of  oblivion,  where  I  had  hoped  to  keep  it. 
For  I  knew  him  now.  Death  and  the  awful 
abode  of  lost  souls,  whither  my  weakness  long 
ago  had  sent  him — they  had  changed  him  for 
every  other  eye,  but  not  for  mine.  I  had  recog 
nized  him  almost  from  the  first  ;  I  had  never 
doubted  what  he  was  come  to  do  ;  and  now  I 
knew  that  while  my  body  sat  safe  in  the  cheer 
ful  little  church,  he  had  been  hunting  my  soul 
in  the  Court  of  the  Dragon. 

1  crept  to  the  door  ;  the  organ  broke  out 
overhead  with  a  blare.  A  dazzling  light 
filled  the  church,  blotting  the  altar  from  my 
eyes.  The  people  faded  away,  the  arches, 
the  vaulted  roof  vanished.  I  raised  my  seared 
eyes  to  the  fathomless  glare,  and  I  saw  the 
black  stars  hanging  in  the  heavens  :  and  the 
wet  winds  from  the  Lake  of  Hali  chilled  my 
face. 

And  now,  far  away,  over  leagues  of  tossing 
cloud-waves,  I  saw  the  moon  dripping  with 
spray  ;  and  beyond,  the  towers  of  Carcosa 
rose  behind  the  moon. 

Death  and  the  awful  abode  of  lost  souls, 
whither  my  weakness  long  ago  had  sent  him, 
had  changed  him  for  every  other  eye  but 
mine.  And  now  I  heard  his  voice,  rising, 
swelling,  thundering  through  the  flaring  light, 
and  as  I  fell,  the  radiance  increasing,  increas 
ing,  poured  over  me  in  waves  of  flame.  Then 
I  sank  into  the  depths,  and  I  heard  the  King 
in  Yellow  whispering  to  my  soul :  "  It  is  a 
fearful  thing  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  living 
God  ! " 


THO  YELLOW  SIGN. 


THE  YELLOW  SIGN. 

"  Let  the  red  dawn  surmise 

What  we  shall  do, 
When  this  blue  starlight  dies 
And  all  is  through." 

HERE  are  so  many  things  which  are 
impossible  to  explain  !  Why  should 
certain  chords  in  music  make  me 
think  of  the  brown  and  golden  tints 
of  autumn  foliage  ?  Why  should  the  Mass  of 
Sainte  C^cile  send  my  thoughts  wandering 
among  caverns  whose  walls  blaze  with  ragged 
masses  of  virgin  silver  ?  What  was  it  in  the 
roar  and  turmoil  of  Broadway  at  six  o'clock 
that  flashed  before  my  eyes  the  picture  of 
a  still  Breton  forest  where  sunlight  filtered 
through  spring  foliage  and  Silvia  bent,  half 
curiously,  half  tenderly,  over  a  small  green, 
lizard,  murmuring  :  "  To  think  that  this  also 
is  a  little  ward  of  God  ! " 

When  I  first  saw  the  watchman  his  back 
was  toward  me.  I  looked  at  him  indifferently 
until  he  went  into  the  church.  I  paid  no  more 
attention  to  him  than  I  had  to  any  other  man 
who  lounged  through  Washington  Square  that 
morning,  and  when  I  shut  my  window  and 
turned  back  into  my  studio  I  had  forgotten 
him.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  the  day  being 
warm,  I  raised  the  window  again  and  leaned 
out  to  get  a  sniff  of  air.  A  man  was  standing 
in  the  courtyard  of  the  church,  and  I  noticed 

99 


Ioo  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

him  again  with  as  little  interest  as  I  had  that 
morning.  I  looked  across  the  square  to  where 
the  fountain  was  playing  and  then,  with  my 
mind  filled  with  vague  impressions  of  trees, 
asphalt  drives,  and  the  moving  groups  of 
nursemaids  and  holiday-makers,  I  started  to 
walk  back  to  my  easel.  As  I  turned,  my  list 
less  glance  included  the  man  below  in  the 
churchyard.  His  face  was  toward  me  now, 
and  with  a  perfectly  involuntary  movement  I 
bent  to  see  it.  At  the  same  moment  he 
raised  his  head  and  looked  at  me.  Instantly 
I  thought  of  a  coffin-worm.  Whatever  it  was 
about  the  man  that  repelled  me  I  did  not 
know,  but  the  impression  of  a  plump  white 
grave-worm  was  so  intense  and  nauseating 
that  I  must  have  shown  it  in  my  expression, 
for  he  turned  his  puffy  face  away  with  a  move 
ment  which  made  me  think  of  a  disturbed 
grub  in  a  chestnut. 

I  went  back  to  my  easel  and  motioned  the 
model  to  resume  her  pose.  After  working 
awhile  I  was  satisfied  that  I  was  spoiling 
what  I  had  done  as  rapidly  as  possible,  and 
I  took  up  a  palette  knife  and  scraped  the 
color  out  again.  The  flesh  tones  were  sallow 
and  unhealthy,  and  I  did  not  understand  how 
I  could  have  painted  such  sickly  color  into  a 
study  which  before  that  had  glowed  with 
healthy  tones. 

I  looked  at  Tessie.  She  had  not  changed, 
and  the  clear  flush  of  health  dyed  her  neck 
and  cheeks  as  I  frowned. 

"  Is  it  something  I've  done  ?  "  she  said. 

"  No, — I've  made  a  mess  of  this  arm,  and 
for  the  life  of  me  I  can't  see  how  I  came  to 
paint  such  mud  as  that  into  the  canvas,"  I 
replied. 


THE  .YELLQ1V  SWM*  jO| , 

•  Don't  I  pose  well  ?  "  she  insisted. 

'  Of  course,  perfectly." 

«  Then  it's  not  my  fault  ?  " 

1  No.     It's  my  own." 

'  I'm  very  sorry,"  she  said. 

I  told  her  she  could  rest  while  I  applied  rag 
and  turpentine  to  the  plague  spot  on  my  can 
vas,  and  she  went  off  to  smoke  a  cigarette 
and  look  over  the  illustrations  in  the  Courier 
Frangais. 

I  did  not  know  whether  it  was  something  in 
the  turpentine  or  a  defect  in  the  canvas,  but 
the  more  I  scrubbed  the  more  that  gangrene 
seemed  to  spread.  I  worked  like  a  beaver  to 
get  it  out,  and  yet  the  disease  appeared  to 
creep  from  limb  to  limb  of  the  study  before 
me.  Alarmed  I  strove  to  arrest  it,  but  now 
the  color  on  the  breast  changed  and  the  whole 
figure  seemed  to  absorb  the  infection  as  a 
sponge  soaks  up  water.  Vigorously  I  plied 
palette  knife,  turpentine,  and  scraper,  thinking 
all  the  time  what  a  stance  I  should  hold  with 
Duval  who  had  sold  me  the  canvas ;  but  soon 
I  noticed  that  it  was  not  the  canvas  which 
was  defective  nor  yet  the  colors  of  Edward. 
"  It  must  be  the  turpentine,"  I  thought  angrily, 
"  or  else  my  eyes  have  become  so  blurred  and 
confused  by  the  afternoon  light  that  I  can't 
see  straight."  I  called  Tessie,  the  model. 
She  came  and  leaned  over  my  chair  blowing 
rings  of  smoke  into  the  air. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  it  ?  "  she 
exclaimed. 

"  Nothing,"  I  growled,  "  it  must  be  this 
turpentine  !  " 

"  What  a  horrible  color  it  is  now,"  she  con 
tinued.  "  Do  you  think  my  flesh  resembles 
green  cheese  ?  " 


102 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


"  No,  I  don't,"  I  said  angrily,  "  did  you  ever 
know  me  to  paint  like  that  before  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed  !  " 

"  Well,  then  !  " 

"  It  must  be  the  turpentine,  or  something," 
she  admitted. 

She  slipped  on  a  Japanese  robe  and  walked 
to  the  window.  I  scraped  and  rubbed  until  I 
was  tired  and  finally  picked  up  my  brushes 
and  hurled  them  through  the  canvas  with  a 
forcible  expression,  the  tone  alone  of  which 
reached  Tessie's  ears. 

Nevertheless  she  promptly  began  :  "  That's 
it!  Swear  and  act  silly  and  ruin  your 
brushes  !  You  have  been  three  weeks  on 
that  study,  and  now  look  !  What's  the  good 
of  ripping  the  canvas  ?  What  creatures 
artists  are  ! " 

I  felt  about  as  much  ashamed  as  I  usually 
did  after  such  an  outbreak,  and  I  turned  the 
ruined  canvas  to  the  wall.  Tessie  helped 
me  clean  my  brushes,  and  then  danced  away 
to  dress.  From  the  screen  she  regaled  me 
with  bits  of  advice  concerning  whole  or  par 
tial  loss  of  temper,  until,  thinking,  perhaps,  I 
had  been  tormented  sufficiently,  she  came 
out  to  implore  me  to  button  her  waist  where 
she  could  not  reach  it  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Everything  went  wrong  from  the  time 
you  came  back  from  the  window  and  talked 
about  that  horrid-looking  man  you  saw  in  the 
churchyard,"  she  announced. 

"  Yes,  he  probably  bewitched  the  picture," 
I  said,  yawning.  I  looked  at  my  watch. 

"  It's  after  six,  I  know,"  said  Tessie,  adjust 
ing  her  hat  before  the  mirror. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "I  didn't  mean  to  keep 
you  so  long."  I  leaned  out  of  the  window 


THE  YELLOW  SIGN.  IO^ 

but  recoiled  with  disgust,  for  the  young  man 
with  the  pasty  face  stood  below  in  the  church 
yard.  Tessie  saw  my  gesture  of  disapproval 
and  leaned  from  the  window. 

"  Is  that  the  man  you  don't  like  ? "  she 
whispered. 

I  nodded. 

"  I  can't  see  his  face,  but  he  does  look  fat 
and  soft.  Someway  or  other,"  she  continued, 
turning  to  look  at  me,  "  he  reminds  me  of  a. 
tlream, — an  awful  dream  I  once  had.  Or," 
she  mused,  looking  down  at  her  shapely  shoes,. 
«'  was  it  a  dream  after  all  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  I  smiled. 

Tessie  smiled  in  reply. 

"You  were  in  it,"  she  said,  "so  perhaps, 
you  might  know  something  about  it." 

"  Tessie  !  Tessie  !  "  I  protested,  "  don't  you 
dare  flatter  by  saying  that  you  dream  about 
«ne  !" 

"  But  I  did,"  she  insisted  ;  "  shall  I  tell  you 
about  it  ? " 

"Go  ahead,"  I  replied,  lighting  a  cigarette, 

Tessie  leaned  back  on  the  open  window-sill 
and  began  very  seriously. 

"  One  night  last  winter  I  was  lying  in  bed 
thinking  about  nothing  at  all  in  particular.  I. 
had  been  posing  for  you  and  I  was  tired  out, 
yet  it  seemed  impossible  for  me  to  sleep.  I 
heard  the  bells  in  the  city  ring  ten,  eleven, 
and  midnight.  I  must  have  fallen  asleep, 
about  midnight  because  I  don't  remember 
hearing  the  bells  after  that.  It  seemed  to  me- 
that  I  had  scarcely  closed  my  eyes  when  I 
dreamed  that  something  impelled  me  to  go  to 
the  window.  I  rose,  and  raising  the  sash 
leaned  out.  Twenty-fifth  Street  was  deserted 
as  far  as  I  could  see.  I  began  to  be  afraid ; 


104 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


everything  outside  seemed  so — so  black  and 
uncomfortable.  Then  the  sound-of  wheels  in 
the  distance  came  to  my  ears,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  as  though  that  was  what  I  must  wait  for. 
Very  slowly  the  wheels  approached,  and, 
finally,  I  could  make  out  a  vehicle  moving 
along  the  street.  It  came  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  when  it  passed  beneath  my  window  I  saw 
it  was  a  hearse.  Then,  as  I  trembled  with 
fear,  the  driver  turned  and  looked  straight  at 
me.  When  I  awoke  I  was  standing  by  the 
open  window  shivering  with  cold,  but  the 
black-plumed  hearse  and  the  driver  were 
gone.  I  dreamed  this  dream  again  in  March 
last,  and  again  awoke  beside  the  open  win 
dow.  Last  night  the  dream  came  again. 
You  remember  how  it  was  raining  ;  when  I 
awoke,  standing  at  the  open  window,  my 
night-dress  was  soaked." 

"But  where  did  I  come  into  the  dream?" 
I  asked. 

"  You — you  were  in  the  coffin ;  but  you 
were  not  dead." 

"  In  the  coffin  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  Could  you  see  me  ?  ** 

"  No  ;  I  only  knew  you  were  there." 

"  Had  you  been  eating  Welsh  rarebits, 
or  lobster  salad  ? "  I  began  laughing,  but 
the  girl  interrupted  me  with  a  frightened 
cry. 

"  Hello  !  What's  up  ?  "  I  said,  as  she  shrank 
into  the  embrasure  by  the  window. 

"The — the  man  below  in  the  churchyard  ; 
— he  drove  the  hearse." 

"  Nonsense,"  I  said,  but  Tessie's  eyes  were 
•wide  with  terror.  I  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  The  man  was  gone.  "  Come, 


THE  YELLOW  SIGN.  JOij 

Tessie, "  I  urged,  "  don't  be  foolish.  You 
have  posed  too  long  ;  you  are  nervous.'* 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  forget  that  face  ?  " 
she  murmured.  "  Three  times  I  saw  the 
hearse  pass  below  my  window,  and  every  time 
the  driver  turned  and  looked  up  at  me.  Oh, 
his  face  was  so  white  and — and  soft?  It 
looked  dead — it  looked  as  if  it  had  been  dead 
a  long  time." 

I  induced  the  girl  to  sit  down  and  swallow 
a  glass  of  Marsala.  Then  I  sat  down  beside 
her,  and  tried  to  give  her  some  advice. 

"  Look  here,  Tessie,"  I  said,  "  you  go  to  the 
country  for  a  week  or  two,  and  you'll  have  no 
more  dreams  about  hearses.  You  pose  all 
day,  and  when  night  comes  your  nerves  are 
upset.  You  can't  keep  this  up.  Then  again, 
instead  of  going  to  bed  when  your  day's  work 
is  done,  you  run  off  to  picnics  at  Sulzer's 
Park,  or  go  to  the  Eldorado  or  Coney  Island, 
and  when  you  come  down  here  next  morning 
you  are  fagged  out.  There  was  no  real 
hearse.  That  was  a  soft-shell  crab  dream." 

She  smiled  faintly. 

"  What  about  the  man  in  the  churchyard  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he's  only  an  ordinary  unhealthy,  every 
day  creature." 

"As  true  as  my  name  is  Tessie  Reardon,  I 
swear  to  you,  Mr.  Scott,  that  the  face  of  the 
man  below  in  the  churchyard  is  the  face  of 
the  man  who  drove  the  hearse  !  " 

"What  of  it?"  I  said.  "It's  an  honest 
trade." 

«'  Then  you  think  I  did  see  the  hearse  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  diplomatically,  "  if  you  really 
did,  it  might  not  be  unlikely  that  the  man 
below  drove  it.  There  is  nothing  in  that." 

Tessie  rose,  unrolled  her  scented  handker- 


THE  KING  Iff  YELLOW. 

chief,  and  taking  a  bit  of  gum  from  a  knot 
in  the  hem,  placed  it  in  her  mouth.  Then 
drawing  on  her  gloves  she  offered  me  her 
hand,  with  a  frank,  "  Good-night,  Mr.  Scott,** 
and  walked  out. 


THE   YELLOW  SIGN. 


II. 


HE  next  morning,  Thomas,  the  bell 
boy,  brought  me  the  Herald  and  a 
bit  of  news.  The  church  next  door 
had  been  sold.  I  thanked  Heaven 
for  it,  not  that  it  being  a  Catholic  I  had  any 
repugnance  for  the  congregation  next  door, 
but  because  my  nerves  were  shattered 
by  a  blatant  exhorter,  whose  every  word 
echoed  through  the  aisle  of  the  church  as 
if  it  had  been  my  own  rooms,  and  who 
insisted  on  his  r's  with  a  nasal  persistence 
which  revolted  my  every  instinct.  Then,  too, 
there  v/as  a  fiend  in  human  shape,  an  organ 
ist,  who  reeled  off  some  of  the  grand  old 
hymns  with  an  interpretation  of  his  own,  and 
I  longed  for  the  blood  of  a  creature  who  could 
play  the  doxology  with  an  amendment  of 
minor  chords  which  one  hears  only  in  a 
quartet  of  very  young  undergraduates.  I 
believe  the  minister  was  a  good  man,  but 
when  he  bellowed :  "  And  the  Lorrrd  said 
unto  Moses,  the  Lorrrd  is  a  man  of  war ;  the 
Lorrrd  is  his  name.  My  wrath  shall  wax  hot 
and  I  will  kill  you  with  the  sworrrd!''  I 
wondered  how  many  centuries  of  purgatory  it 
would  take  to  atone  for  such  a  sin. 

"Who    bought    the    property?"     I    asked 
Thomas. 


I0g  THE  KING  119   YELLOW. 

"  Nobody  that  I  knows,  sir.  They  do  say 
the  gent  wot  owns  this  'ere  'Amilton  flats  was 
lookin'  at  it.  'E  might  be  a  bildin1  more 
studios." 

I  walked  to  the  window.  The  young  man 
with  the  unhealthy  face  stood  by  the  church 
yard  gate,  and  at  the  mere  sight  of  him  the 
same  overwhelming  repugnance  took  posses 
sion  of  me, 

"  By  the  way,  Thomas,"  I  said,  «« who  is 
that  fellow  down  there  ?  " 

Thomas  sniffed.  "  That  there  worm,  sir  ? 
*E's  night-watchman  of  the  church,  sir.  'E 
maikes  me  tired  a~sittin'  out  all  night  on  them 
steps  and  lookin'  at  you  insultin'  like.  I'd  a 
punched  'is  'ed,  sir — beg  pardon,  sir " 

"Go  on,  Thomas." 

"  One  night  a  comin*  'ome  with  'Arry,  the 
other  English  boy,  I  sees  'im  a  sittin'  there  on 
them  steps.  We  'ad  Molly  and  Jen  with  us, 
sir,  the  two  girls  on  the  tray  service,  an'  'e 
looks  so  insultin'  at  us  that  I  up  and  sez : 
« Wat  you  looking  hat,  you  fat  slug  ?  ' — beg 
pardon,  sir,  but  that's  'ow  I  sez,  sir.  Then 
'e  don't  say  nothin'  and  I  sez  :  '  Come  out  and 
I'll  punch  that  puddin'  'ed.'  Then  I  hopens 
the  gate  an'  goes  in,  but  'e  don't  say  nothin', 
only  looks  insultin'  like.  Then  I  'its  'im  one, 
but,  ugh  !  'is  'ed  was  that  cold  and  mushy  it 
ud  sicken  you  to  touch  'im." 

"  What  did  he  do  the'n  ?  "  I  asked,  curiously. 

"  'Im  ?     Nawthin'." 

"  And  you,  Thomas  ?  " 

The  young  fellow  flushed  with  embarrass 
ment  and  smiled  uneasily. 

."  Mr.  Scott,  sir,  I  ain't  no  coward  an' I  can't 
make  it  out  at  all  why  I  run.  I  was  in  the  5th 


THE  YELLOW  SIGN.  Io« 

Lawncers,  sir,  bugler  at  Tel-el-Kebir,  an*  was 
shot  by  the  wells." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  ran  away  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir  ;   I  run." 

««  Why  ?  " 

"  That's  just  what  I  want  to  know,  sir.  I 
grabbed  Molly  an'  run,  an*  the  rest  was  as 
frightened  as  I." 

"  But  what  were  they  frightened  at  ?  " 

Thomas  refused  to  answer  for  a  while,  but 
now  my  curiosity  was  aroused  about  the  re 
pulsive  young  man  below  and  I  pressed  him. 
Three  years'  sojourn  in  America  had  not  only 
modified  Thomas'  cockney  dialect  but  had 
given  him  the  American's  fear  of  ridicule. 

"  You  won't  believe  me,  Mr.  Scott,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  will." 

"  You  will  lawf  at  me,  sir  ?  " 

"  Nonsense  !  " 

He  hesitated.  "  Well,  sir,  it's  Gawd's  truth 
that  when  I  'it  'im  *e  grabbed  me  wrists,  sir, 
and  when  I  twisted  'is  soft,  mushy  fist  one  of 
'is  fingers  come  off  in  me  'and." 

The  utter  loathing  and  horror  of  Thomas* 
face  must  have  been  reflected  in  my  own  for 
he  added  : 

"  It's  orful,  anf  now  when  I  see  'im  I  just  go 
away.  'E  maikes  me  hill." 

When  Thomas  had  gone  I  went  to  the 
window.  The  man  stood  beside  the  church- 
railing  with  both  hands  on  the  gate,  but  I 
hastily  retreated  to  my  easel  again,  sickened 
and  horrified,  for  I  saw  that  the  middle  finger 
of  his  right  hand  was  missing. 

At  nine  o'clock  Tessie  appeared  and  van 
ished  behind  the  screen  with  a  merry  "  good- 
morning,  Mr.  Scott."  When  she  had  reap 
peared  and  taken  her  pose  upon  the  model- 


, I0  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

stand  I  started  a  new  canvas  much  to  her  de 
light.  She  remained  silent  as  long  as  I  was 
on  the  drawing,  but  as  soon  as  the  scrape  of 
the  charcoal  ceased  and  I  took  up  my  fixative 
she  began  to  chatter. 

"  Oh,  I  had  such  a  lovely  time  last  night. 
We  went  to  Tony  Pastor's." 

"  Who  are  'we  '  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  Oh,  Maggie,  you  know,  Mr.  Whyte's 
model,  and  Pinkie  McCormick — we  call  her 
Pinkie  because  she's  got  that  beautiful  red 
hair  you  artists  like  so  much — and  Lizzie 
Burke." 

I  sent  a  shower  of  spray  from  the  fix 
ative  over  the  canvas,  and  said  :  "  Well,  go 
on." 

"  We  saw  Kelly  and  Baby  Barnes  the  skirt- 
dancer  and — and  all  the  rest.  I  made  a  mash." 

"  Then  you  have  gone  back  on  me,  Tessie  ?  " 

She  laughed  and  shook  her  head. 

"  He's  Lizzie  Burke's  brother,  Ed.  He's  a 
perfect  genVman." 

I  felt  constrained  to  give  her  some  parental 
advice  concerning  mashing,  which  she  took 
with  a  bright  smile. 

"  Oh,  I  can  take  care  of  a  strange  mash," 
she  said,  examining  her  chewing  gum,  "  but 
Ed  is  different.  Lizzie  is  my  best  friend." 

Then  she  related  how  Ed  had  come  back 
from  the  stocking  mill  in  Lowell,  Massachu 
setts,  to  find  her  and  Lizzie  grown  up,  and 
what  an  accomplished  young  man  he  was, 
and  how  he  thought  nothing  of  squandering 
half  a  dollar  for  ice-cream  and  oysters  to 
celebrate  his  entry  as  clerk  into  the  woollen 
department  of  Macy's.  Before  she  finished 
I  began  to  paint,  and  she  resumed  the  pose, 
smiling  and  chattering  like  a  sparrow.  By 


THE  YELLOW  SIGN. 


Ill 


noon  I  had  the  study  fairly  well  rubbed  in  and 
Tessie  came  to  look  at  it. 

«•  That's  better,"  she  said. 

I  thought  so  too,  and  ate  my  lunch  with 
a  satisfied  feeling  that  all  was  going  well. 
Tessie  spread  her  lunch  on  a  drawing  table 
opposite  me  and  we  drank  our  claret  from 
the  same  bottle  and  lighted  our  cigarettes 
from  the  same  match.  I  was  very  much  at 
tached  to  Tessie.  I  had  watched  her  shoot 
up  into  a  slender  but  exquisitely  formed 
woman  from  a  frail,  awkward  child.  She 
had  posed  for  me  during  the  last  three  years, 
and  among  all  my  models  she  was  my  favor 
ite.  It  would  have  troubled  me  very  much 
indeed  had  she  become  "  tough  "  or  «•  fly,"  as 
the  phrase  goes,  but  I  never  noticed  any 
deterioration  of  her  manner,  and  felt  at 
heart  that  she  was  all  right.  She  and  I 
never  discussed  morals  at  all,  and  I  had  no 
intention  of  doing  so,  partly  because  I  had 
none  myself,  and  partly  because  I  knew  she 
would  do  what  she  liked  in  spite  of  me.  Still 
I  did  hope  she  would  steer  clear  of  complica 
tions,  because  I  wished  her  well,  and  then 
also  I  had  a  selfish  desire  to  retain  the  best 
model  I  had.  I  knew  that  mashing,  as  she 
termed  it,  had  no  significance  with  girls  like 
Tessie,  and  that  such  things  in  America  did  not 
resemble  in  the  least  the  same  things  in  Paris. 
Yet,  having  lived  with  my  eyes  open,  I  also 
knew  that  somebody  would  take  Tessie  away 
some  day,  in  one  manner  or  another,  and 
though  I  professed  to  myself  that  marriage 
was  nonsense,  I  sincerely  hoped  that,  in  this 
case,  there  would  be  a  priest  at  the  end 
of  the  vista.  I  am  a  Catholic.  When  I 
listen  to  high  mass,  when  I  sign  myself  I 


1I2  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

feel  that  everything,  including  myself,  is  morft 
cheerful,  and  when  I  confess,  it  does  me  good. 
A  man  who  lives  as  much  alone  as  I  do, 
must  confess  to  somebody.  Then,  again, 
Sylvia  was  Catholic,  and  it  was  reason  enough 
for  me.  But  I  was  speaking  of  Tessie, 
which  is  very  different.  Tessie  also  was 
Catholic  and  much  more  devout  than  I, 
so,  taking  it  ail  in  all,  I  had  little  fear  for 
my  pretty  model  until  she  should  fall  in  love. 
But  then  I  knew  that  fate  alone  would  decide 
her  future  for  her,  and  I  prayed  inwardly  that 
fate  would  keep  her  away  from  men  like  me 
and  throw  into  her  path  nothing  but  Ed 
Burkes  and  Jimmy  McCormicks,  bless  her 
sweet  face  ! 

Tessie  sat  blowing  rings  of  smoke  up  to  the 
ceiling  and  tinkling  the  ice  in  her  tumbler. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  also  had  a  dream 
last  night  ?  "  I  observed. 

"  Not  about  that  man,"  she  laughed. 

"  Exactly.  A  dream  similar  to  yours,  only 
much  worse." 

It  was  foolish  and  thoughtless  of  me  to 
say  this,  but  you  know  how  little  tact  the  aver 
age  painter  has. 

"  I  must  have  fallen  asleep  about  10  o'clock," 
I  continued,  "  and  after  awhile  I  dreamt 
that  I  awoke.  So  plainly  did  I  hear  the 
midnight  bells,  the  wind  in  the  tree-branches, 
and  the  whistle  of  steamers  from  the  bay, 
that  even  now  I  can  scarcely  believe  I  was 
not  awake.  I  seemed  to  be  lying  in  a  box 
which  had  a  glass  cover.  Dimly  I  saw 
the  street  lamps  as  I  passed,  for  I  must  tell 
you,  Tessie,  the  box  in  which  I  reclined  ap 
peared  to  lie  in  a  cushioned  wagon  which  jolt- 


THE  YELLOW  SIGN.  ITj 

ed  me  over  a  stony  pavement.  After  a  while 
I  became  impatient  and  tried  to  move  but  the 
box  was  too  narrow.  My  hands  were  crossed 
on  my  breast  so  I  could  not  raise  them  to 
help  myself.  I  listened  and  then  tried  to  call. 
My  voice  was  gone.  I  could  hear  the  trample 
of  the  horses  attached  to  the  wagon  and  even 
the  breathing  of  the  driver.  Then  another 
sound  broke  upon  my  ears  like  the  raising  of 
a  window  sash.  I  managed  to  turn  my  head 
a  little,  and  found  I  could  look,  not  only 
through  the  glass  cover  of  my  box,  but  also 
through  the  glass  panes  in  the  side  of  the 
covered  vehicle.  I  saw  houses,  empty  and 
silent,  with  neither  light  nor  life  about  any  of 
them  excepting  one.  In  that  house  a  window 
was  open  on  the  first  floor  and  a  figure  all  in 
white  stood  looking  down  into  the  street.  It 
was  you." 

Tessie  had  turned  her  face  away  from  me 
and  leaned  on  the  table  with  her  elbow. 

"  I  could  see  your  face,"  I  resumed,  "  and 
it  seemed  to  me  to  be  very  sorrowful.  Then 
we  passed  on  and  turned  into  a  narrow  black 
lane.  Presently  the  horses  stopped.  I  waited 
and  waited,  closing  my  eyes  with  fear  and 
impatience,  but  all  was  silent  as  the  grave.. 
After  what  seemed  to  me  hours,  I  began  to 
feel  uncomfortable.  A  sense  that  somebody 
was  close  to  me  made  me  unclose  my  eyes. 
Then  I  saw  the  white  face  of  the  hearse-driver 
looking  at  me  through  the  coffin-lid " 

A  sob  from  Tessie  interrupted  me.  She 
was  trembling  like  a  leaf.  I  saw  I  had  made 
an  ass  of  myself  and  attempted  to  repair  the 
damage. 

"  Why,  Tess,"  I  said,  "  I  only  told  you  this 
to  show  you  what  influence  your  story  might 
8 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

have  on  another  person's  dreams.  You  don't 
suppose  I  really  lay  in  a  coffin,  do  you  ?  What 
are  you  trembling  for  ?  Don't  you  see  that 
your  dream  and  my  unreasonable  dislike 
for  that  inoffensive  watchman  of  the  church 
simply  set  my  brain  working  as  soon  as  I  fell 
asleep  ?  " 

She  laid  her  head  between  her  arms  and 
sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  What  a 
precious  triple  donkey  I  had  made  of  myself  ! 
But  I  was  about  to  break  my  record.  I  went 
over  and  put  my  arm  about  her. 

"  Tessie  dear,  forgive  me,"  I  said  ;  "  I  had 
no  business  to  frighten  you  with  such  non 
sense.  You  are  too  sensible  a  girl,  too  good 
a  Catholic  to  believe  in  dreams." 

Her  hand  tightened  on  mine  and  her  head 
fell  back  upon  my  shoulder,  but  she  still 
trembled  and  I  petted  her  and  comforted  her. 

"  Come,  Tess,  open  your  eyes  and  smile." 

Her  eyes  opened  with  a  slow  languid  move 
ment  and  met  mine,  but  their  expression 
was  so  queer  that  I  hastened  to  reassure  her 
again. 

"  It's  all  humbug,  Tessie,  you  surely  are  not 
afraid  that  any  harm  will  come  to  you  because 
of  that." 

"  No,"  she  said,  but  her  scarlet  lips  quiv 
ered. 

"  Then  what's  the  matter  ?  Are  you 
afraid  ? " 

"  Yes.     Not  for  myself." 

"  For  me,  then  ?  "   I  demanded  gayly. 

"  For  you,"  she  murmured  in  a  voice  al 
most  inaudible,  "  I — I  care  for  you." 

At  first  I  started  to  laugh,  but  when  I  un 
derstood  her,  a  shock  passed  through  me  and 
I  sat  like  one  turned  to  stone.  This  was  the 


THE  YELLOW  SIGN.  n* 

crowning  bit  of  idiocy  I  had  committed. 
During  the  moment  which  elapsed  between 
her  reply  and  my  answer  I  thought  of  a  thou 
sand  responses  to  that  innocent  confession.  I 
could  pass  it  by  with  a  laugh,  I  could  mis 
understand  her  and  reassure  her  as  to  my 
health,  I  could  simply  point  out  that  it  was 
impossible  she  could  love  me.  But  my  reply 
was  quicker  than  my  thoughts,  and  I  might 
think  and  think  now  when  it  was  too  late,  for 
I  had  kissed  her  on  the  mouth. 

That  evening  I  took  my  usual  walk  in 
Washington  Park,  pondering  over  the  occur 
rences  of  the  day.  I  was  thoroughly  com 
mitted.  There  was  no  back  out  now,  and  I 
stared  the  future  straight  in  the  face.  I  was 
not  good,  not  even  scrupulous,  but  I  had  no 
idea  of  deceiving  either  myself  or  Tessie. 
The  one  passion  of  my  life  lay  buried  in  the 
sunlit  forests  of  Brittany.  Was  it  buried  for 
ever  ?  Hope  cried  "No!"  For  three  years 
I  had  been  listening  to  the  voice  of  Hope,  and 
for  three  years  I  had  waited  for  a  footstep  on 
my  threshold.  Had  Sylvia  forgotten  ?  "No!" 
cried  Hope. 

I  said  that  I  was  not  good.  Thatistrue,  but 
still  I  was  not  exactly  a  comic  opera  villain.  I 
had  led  an  easy-going  reckless  life,  taking  what 
invited  me  of  pleasure,  deploring  and  some 
times  bitterly  regretting  consequences.  In 
one  thing  alone,  except  my  painting,  was  I 
serious,  and  that  was  something  which  lay 
hidden  if  not  lost  in  tv.e  Breton  forests. 

It  was  too  late  now  for  me  to  regret  what 
had  occurred  during  the  day.  Whatever  it 
had  been,  pity,  a  sudden  tenderness  for  sor 
row,  or  the  more  brutal  instinct  of  gratified 
Yanity,  it  was  all  the  same  now,  and  unless  I 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

wished  to  bruise  an  innocent  heart  my  path 
lay  marked  before  me.  The  fire  and  strength, 
the  depth  of  passion  of  a  love  which  I  had 
never  even  suspected,  with  all  my  imagined  ex 
perience  in  the  world,  left  me  no  alternative 
but  to  respond  or  send  her  away.  Whether 
because  I  am  so  cowardly  about  giving  pain  to 
others,  or  whether  it  was  that  I  have  little  of 
the  gloomy  Puritan  in  me,  I  do  not  know,  but 
I  shrank  from  disclaiming  responsibility  for 
that  thoughtless  kiss,  and  in  fact  had  no  time 
to  do  so  before  the  gates  of  her  heart  opened 
and  the  flood  poured  forth.  Others  who  ha 
bitually  do  their  duty  and  find  a  sullen  satis 
faction  in  making  themselves  and  everybody 
else  unhappy,  might  have  withstood  it.  I  did 
not.  I  dared  not.  After  the  storm  had 
abated  I  did  tell  her  that  she  might  better 
have  loved  Ed  Burke  and  worn  a  plain  gold 
ring,  but  she  would  not  hear  of  it,  and  I 
thought  perhaps  that  as  long  as  she  had  de 
cided  to  love  somebody  she  could  not  marry, 
it  had  better  be  me.  I,  at  least  could  treat 
her  with  an  intelligent  affection,  and  whenever 
she  became  tired  of  her  infatuation  she  could 
go  none  the  worse  for  it.  For  I  was  decided 
on  that  point  although  I  knew  how  hard  it 
would  be.  I  remembered  the  usual  termina 
tion  of  Platonic  liaisons  and  thojght  how  dis 
gusted  I  had  been  whenever  I  heard  of  one. 
I  knew  I  was  undertaking  a  great  deal  for  so 
unscrupulous  a  man  as  I  was,  and  I  dreaded 
the  future,  but  never  for  one  moment  did  I 
doubt  that  she  was  safe  with  me.  Had  it 
been  anybody  but  Tessie  I  should  not  have 
bothered  my  head  about  scruples.  For  it  did 
not  occur  to  me  to  sacrifice  Tessie  as  I  would 
have  sacrificed  a  woman  of  the  world.  I 


THE  YELLOW  SIGN. 


117 


looked  the  future  squarely  in  the  face  and 
araw  the  several  probable  endings  to  the  af 
fair.  She  would  either  tire  of  the  whole  thing, 
or  become  so  unhappy  that  I  should  have 
either  to  marry  her  or  go  away.  If  I  married 
her  we  would  be  unhappy.  I  with  a  wife  un- 
suited  to  me,  and  she  with  a  husband  unsuit 
able  for  any  woman.  For  my  past  life  could 
scarcely  entitle  me  to  marry.  If  1  went  away 
she  might  either  fall  ill,  recover,  and  marry 
some  Eddie  Burke,  or  she  might  recklessly  or 
deliberately  go  and  do  something  foolish.  On 
the  other  hand  if  she  tired  of  me,  then  her 
whole  life  would  be  before  her  with  beautiful 
vistas  of  Eddie  Burkes  and  marriage  rings 
and  twins  and  Harlem  flats  and  Heaven 
knows  what.  As  I  strolled  along  through  the 
trees  by  the  Washington  Arch,  I  decided  that 
she  should  find  a  substantial  friend  in  me  any 
way  and  the  future  could  take  care  of  itself. 
Then  I  went  into  the  house  and  put  on  my 
evening  dress  for  the  little  faintly  perfumed 
note  on  my  dresser  said,  "  Have  a  cab  at  the 
stage  door  at  eleven,"  and  the  note  was  signed 
"  Edith  Carmichel,  Metropolitan  Theatre." 
I  took  supper  that  night,  or  rather  we  took 
supper,  Miss  Carmichel  and  I,  at  Solari's  and 
the  dawn  was  just  beginning  to  gild  the  cross 
on  the  Memtf^ial  Church  as  I  entered  Wash 
ington  Square  after  leaving  Edith  at  the 
Brunswick.  There  was  not  a  soul  in  the  park 
as  I  passed  among  the  trees  and  took  the  walk 
which  leads  from  the  Garibaldi  statue  to  the 
Hamilton  Apartment  House,  but  as  I  passed 
the  churchyard  I  saw  a  figure  sitting  on  the 
stone  steps.  In  spite  of  myself  a  chill  crep*. 
over  me  at  the  sight  of  the  white  puffy  face« 


THE  KING  Iff  YELLOW. 

and  I  hastened  to  pass.  Then  he  said  some* 
thing  which  might  have  been  addressed  to  me 
or  might  merely  have  been  a  mutter  to  him 
self,  but  a  sudden  furious  anger  flamed  up 
within  me  that  such  a  creature  should  address 
me.  For  an  instant  I  felt  like  wheeling  about 
and  smashing  my  stick  over  his  head,  but  I 
walked  on,  and  entering  the  Hamilton  went  to 
my  apartment.  For  some  time  I  tossed 
about  the  bed  trying  to  get  the  sound  of  his 
voice  out  ot  my  ears,  but  could  not.  It  filled 
my  head,  that  muttering  sound,  like  thick  oily 
smoke  from  a  fat-rendering  vat  or  an  odor  of 
noisome  decay.  And  as  I  lay  and  tossed 
about,  the  voice  in  my  ears  seemed  more  dis 
tinct,  and  I  began  to  understand  the  words  he 
had  muttered.  They  came  to  me  slowly  as  if 
I  had  forgotten  them,  and  at  last  I  could  make 
some  sense  out  of  the  sounds.  It  was  this  : 
"  Have  you  found  the  Yellow  Sign  ?  " 
"  Have  you  found  the  Yellow  Sign  ?  " 
««  Have  you  found  the  Yellow  Sign  ?  " 
I  was  furious.  What  did  he  mean  by  that  ? 
Then  with  a  curse  upon  him  and  his  I  rolled 
over  and  went  to  sleep,  but  when  I  awoke 
later  I  looked  pale  and  haggard,  for  I  had 
dreamed  the  dream  of  the  night  before  and  it 
troubled  me  more  than  I  cared  to  think. 

I  dressed  and  went  down  into  my  studio. 
Tessie  sat  by  the  window,  but  as  I  came  in 
she  rose  and  put  both  arms  around  my  neck 
for  an  innocent  kiss.  She  looked  so  sweet 
and  dainty  that  I  kissed  her  again  and  then 
sat  down  before  the  easel. 

"  Hello  !  Where's  the  study  I  began  yester 
day  ?  "  I  asked. 

Tessie  looked  conscious,  but  did  not  answer. 
I  began  to  hunt  among  the  piles  of  canvases, 


THE  YELLOW  SIGN.  jj- 

saying,  "  Hurry  up,  Tess,  and  get  ready ; 
we  must  take  advantage  of  the  morning 
light." 

When  at  last  I  gave  up  the  search  among 
the  other  canvases  and  turned  to  look  around 
the  room  for  the  missing  study  I  noticed  Tes- 
sie  standing  by  the  screen  with  her  clothes 
still  on. 

••  What's  the  matter,"  I  asked,  "  don't  you 
feel  well  ? " 

*•  Yes." 

"  Then  hurry." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  pose  as — as  I  have 
always  posed  ?  " 

Then  I  understood.  Here  was  a  new  com 
plication.  I  had  lost,  of  course,  the  best  nude 
model  I  had  ever  seen.  I  looked  at  Tessie. 
Her  face  was  scarlet.  Alas  !  Alas  !  We 
had  eaten  of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  and  Eden 
and  native  innocence  were  dreams  of  the  past 
— I  mean  for  her. 

I  suppose  she  noticed  the  disappointment 
on  my  face,  for  she  said  :  •«  I  will  pose  if  you 
wish.  The  study  is  behind  the  screen  here 
where  I  put  it." 

41  No,"  I  said,  "  we  will  begin  something 
new  ;  "  and  1  went  into  my  wardrobe  and  picked 
out  a  Moorish  costume  which  fairly  blazed 
with  tinsel.  It  was  a  genuine  costume,  and 
Tessie  retired  to  the  screen  with  it  enchanted. 
When  she  came  forth  again  I  was  astonished. 
Her  long  black  hair  was  bound  above  her 
forehead  with  a  circlet  of  turquoises,  and  the 
ends  curled  about  her  glittering  girdle.  Her 
feet  were  encased  in  the  embroidered  pointed 
slippers  and  the  skirt  of  her  costume,  curi 
ously  wrought  with  arabesques  in  silver,  fell 
to  her  ankles.  The  deep  metallic  blue  vest 


120 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


embroidered  with  silver  and  the  short  Mail- 
resque  jacket  spangled  and  sewn  with  tur 
quoises  became  her  wonderfully.  She  came 
tip  to  me  and  held  up  her  face  smiling.  I 
slipped  my  hand  into  my  pocket  and  drawing 
out  a  gold  chain  with  a  cross  attached,  dropped 
it  over  her  head. 

"  It's  yours,  Tessie." 

"  Mine  ?  "  she  faltered. 

«« Yours.  Now  go  and  pose."  Then  with 
a  radiant  smile  she  ran  behind  the  screen  and 
presently  re-appeared  with  a  little  box  on 
which  was  written  my  name. 

"  I  had  intended  to  give  it  to  you  when  I 
went  home  to-night,"  she  said,  "  but  I  can't 
wait  now." 

I  opened  the  box.  On  the  pink  cotton  in 
side  lay  a  clasp  of  black  onyx,  on  which  was 
inlaid  a  curious  symbol  or  letter  in  gold.  It 
was  neither  Arabic  nor  Chinese,  nor  as  I 
found  afterwards  did  it  belong  to  any  human 
script. 

«« It's  all  I  had  to  give  you  for  a  keepsake," 
she  said,  timidly. 

I  was  annoyed,  but  I  told  her  how  much  I 
should  prize  it,  and  promised  to  wear  it  always. 
She  fastened  it  on  my  coat  beneath  the 
lapel. 

"  How  foolish,  Tess,  to  go  and  buy  me  such 
a  beautiful  thing  as  this,"  I  said. 

"I  did  not  buy  it,"  she  laughed. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

Then  she  told  me  how  she  had  found  it 
one  day  while  coming  irom  the  Aquarium  in 
the  Battery,  how  she  had  advertised  it  and 
watched  the  papers,  but  at  last  gave  up  all 
hopes  of  finding  the  owner. 

«'  That  was  last  winter,"  she  said,  "  the  very 


YELLOW  SIGN. 


121 


day  I  had  the  first  horrid   dream  about  the 
hearse." 

I  remembered  my  dream  of  the  previous 
night  but  said  nothing,  and  presently  my  chart 
coal  was  flying  over  a  new  canvas,  and  Tessic 
stood  motionless  on  the  model  stand. 


S22  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW 


III.' 

HE  day  following  was  a  disastrous 
one  for  me.  While  moving  a  framed 
canvas  from  one  easel  to  another  my 
foot  slipped  on  the  polished  floor  and 
I  fell  heavily  on  both  wrists.  They 
were  so  badly  sprained  that  it  was  useless  to 
attempt  to  hold  a  brush,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
wander  about  the  studio,  glaring  at  unfinished 
drawings  and  sketches  until  despair  seized 
me  and  I  sat  down  to  smoke  and  twiddle  my 
thumbs  with  rage.  The  rain  blew  against  the 
windows  and  rattled  on  the  roof  of  the  church, 
driving  me  into  a  nervous  fit  with  its  inter 
minable  patter.  Tessie  sat  sewing  by  the  win 
dow,  and  every  now  and  then  raised  her  head 
and  looked  at  me  with  such  innocent  compas 
sion  that  I  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  my  irri 
tation  and  looked  about  for  something  to  oc 
cupy  me.  I  had  read  all  the  papers  and  all 
the  books  in  the  library,  but  for  the  sake  of 
something  to  do  I  went  to  the  bookcases  and 
shoved  them  open  with  my  elbow.  I  knew 
every  volume  by  its  color  and  examined  them 
all,  passing  slowly  around  the  library  and 
whistling  to  keep  up  my  spirits.  I  was  turning 
to  go  into  the  dining-room  when  my  eye  fell 
upon  a  book  bound  in  serpent  skin,  standing  in 
a  corner  of  the  top  shelf  of  the  last  bookcase. 
I  did  not  remember  it  and  from  the  floor  could 
not  decipher  the  pale  lettering  on  the  back,  so 
I  went  to  the  smoking-room  and  called  Tessie. 


THE  YELLOW  SIGN.  12* 

She  came  in  from  the  studio  and  climbed  up 
to  reach  the  book. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

•"The  King  in  Yellow,'" 

I  was  dumfounded.  Who  had  placed  it 
there  ?  How  came  it  in  my  rooms  ?  I  had 
long  ago  decided  that  I  should  never  open  that 
book,  and  nothing  on  earth  could  have  per. 
suaded  me  to  buy  it.  Fearful  lest  curiosity 
might  tempt  me  to  open  it,  I  had  never  even 
looked  at  it  in  book-stores.  If  I  ever  had  had 
any  curiosity  to  read  it,  the  awful  tragedy  of 
young  Castaigne,  whom  I  knew,  prevented  me 
frem  exploring  ts  wicked  pages.  I  had  al 
ways  refused  to  listen  to  any  description  of  it, 
and  indeed,  nobody  ever  ventured  to  discuss 
the  second  part  aloud,  so  I  had  absolutely  no 
knowledge  of  what  those  leaves  might  reveal. 
I  stared  at  the  poisonous  mottled  binding  as  I 
would  at  a  snake. 

"  Don't  touch  it,  Tessie,"  I  said  ;  "  come 
down." 

Of  course  my  admonition  was  enough  to 
arouse  her  curiosity,  and  before  I  could  prevent 
it  she  took  the  book  and,  laughing,  danced  off 
into  the  studio  with  it.  I  called  to  her  but  she 
slipped  away  with  a  tormenting  smile  at  my 
helpless  hands,  and  I  followed  her  with  some 
impatience. 

"  Tessie  !  "  I  cried,  entering  the  library, 
"  listen,  I  am  serious.  Put  that  book  away. 
I  do  not  wish  you  to  open  it !  "  The  library 
was  empty.  I  went  into  both  drawing-rooms, 
then  into  the  bedrooms,  laundry,  kitchen,  and 
finally  returned  to  the  library  and  began  a 
systematic  search.  She  had  hidden  herself  so 
well  that  it  was  half  an  hour  later  when  I  dis 
covered  her  crouching  white  and  silent  by  the 


124 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


latticed  window  in  the  store-room  above.  At 
the  first  glance  I  saw  she  had  been  punished 
for  her  foolishness.  "  The  King  in  Yellow  "  lay 
at  her  feet,  but  the  book  was  open  at  the  second 

Eart.  I  looked  at  Tessie  and  saw  it  was  too 
ite.  She  had  opened  "  The  King  in  Yellow." 
Then  I  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her 
into  the  studio.  She  seemed  dazed,  and  when 
I  told  her  to  lie  down  on  the  sofa  she  obeyed 
me  without  a  word.  After  a  while  she  closed 
her  eyes  and  her  breathing  became  regular 
and  deep,  but  I  could  not  determine  whether 
or  not  she  slept.  For  a  long  while  I  sat  si. 
lently  beside  her,  but  she  neither  stirred  nor 
spoke,  and  at  last  I  rose  and  entering  the  un 
used  store-room  took  the  book  in  my  least 
injured  hand.  It  seemed  heavy  as  lead,  but  I 
carried  it  into  the  studio  again,  and  sitting 
down  on  the  rug  beside  the  sofa,  opened  it 
and  read  it  through  from  beginning  to  end. 

When,  faint  with  the  excess  of  my  emotions, 
I  dropped  the  volume  and  leaned  wearily  back 
against  the  sofa,  Tessie  opened  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  me.  *  *  *  *  *  * 

We  had  been  speaking  for  some  time  in  a 
dull  monotonous  strain  before  I  realized  that 
we  were  discussing  "The  King  in  Yellow." 
Oh  the  sin  of  writing  such  words, — words 
which  are  clear  as  crystal,  limpid  and  musical 
as  bubbling  springs,  words  which  sparkle  and 
glow  like  the  poisoned  diamonds  of  the  Med- 
icis  !  Oh  the  wickedness,  the  hopeless  dam 
nation  of  a  soul  who  could  fascinate  and  para 
lyze  human  creatures  with  such  words, — 
words  understood  by  the  ignorant  and  wise 
alike,  words  which  are  more  precious  than 
jewels,  more  soothing  than  music,  more  awful 
than  death  1 


THE  YELLOW  SIGN  J2£j 

We  talked  on,  unmindful  of  the  gathering 
shadows,  and  she  was  begging  me  to  throw 
away  the  clasp  of  black  onyx  quaintly  inlaid 
with  what  we  now  knew  to  be  the  Yellow  Sign. 
I  never  shall  know  why  I  refused,  though  even 
at  this  hour,  here  in  my  bedroom  as  I  write 
this  confession,  I  should  be  glad  to  know  what 
it  was  that  prevented  me  from  tearing  the  Yel 
low  Sign  from  my  breast  and  casting  it  into 
the  fire.  I  am  sure  I  wished  to  do  so,  and  yet 
Tessie  pleaded  with  me  in  vain.  Night  fell 
and  the  hours  dragged  on,  but  still  we  mur 
mured  to  each  other  of  the  King  and  the  Pal 
lid  Mask,  and  midnight  sounded  from  the 
misty  spires  in  the  fog-wrapped  city.  We 
spoke  of  Hastur  and  of  Cassilda,  while  outside 
the  fog  rolled  against  the  blank  window-panes 
as  the  cloud  waves  roll  and  break  on  the 
shores  of  Hali. 

The  house  was  very  silent  now  and  not 
a  sound  came  up  from  the  misty  streets. 
Tessie  lay  among  the  cushions,  her  face  a  gray 
blot  in  the  gloom,  but  her  hands  wei'e  clasped 
in  mine  and  I  knew  that  she  knew  and  read 
my  thoughts  as  I  read  hers,  for  we  had  under 
stood  the  mystery  of  the  Hyades  and  the 
Phantom  of  Truth  was  laid.  Then  as  we  an 
swered  each  other,  swiftly,  silently,  thought 
on  thought,  the  shadows  stirred  in  the  gloom 
about  us,  and  far  in  the  distant  streets  we 
heard  a  sound.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  came, 
the  dull  crunching  of  wheels,  nearer  and 
yet  nearer,  and  now,  outside  before  the  door 
it  ceased,  and  I  dragged  myself  to  the  window 
and  saw  a  black-plumed  hearse.  The  gate 
below  opened  and  shut,  and  I  crept  shaking 
to  my  door  and  bolted  it,  but  I  knew  no  bolts, 
£LO  locks,  could  keep  that  creature  out  who 


126  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

was  coming  for  the  Yellow  Sign.  And  now  I 
heard  him  moving  very  softly  along  the  hall. 
Now  he  was  at  the  door,  and  the  bolts  rotted 
at  his  touch.  Now  he  had  entered.  With 
eyes  starting  from  my  head  I  peered  into  the 
darkness,  but  when  he  came  into  the  room  I 
did  not  see  him.  It  was  only  when  I  felt  him 
envelop  me  in  his  cold  soft  grasp  that  I  cried 
out  and  struggled  with  deadly  fury,  but  my 
hands  were  useless  and  he  tore  the  onyx  clasp 
from  my  coat  and  struck  me  full  in  the  face. 
Then,  as  I  fell,  I  heard  Tessie's  soft  cry  and 
her  spirit  fled  :  and  even  while  falling  I  longed 
to  follow  her,  for  I  knew  that  the  King  in 
Yellow  had  opened  his  tattered  mantle  and 
there  was  only  God  to  cry  to  now. 

I  could  tell  more,  but  I  cannot  see  what 
help  it  will  be  to  the  world.  As  for  me  I  am. 
past  human  help  or  hope.  As  I  lie  here, 
writing,  careless  even  whether  or  not  I  die 
before  I  finish,  I  can  see  the  doctor  gathering 
up  his  powders  and  phials  with  a  vague  gest 
ure  to  the  good  priest  beside  me,  which  I  un 
derstand. 

They  will  be  very  curious  to  know  th$ 
tragedy — they  of  the  outside  world  who  writs 
books  and  print  millions  of  newspapers,  but  I 
shall  write  no  more,  and  the  father  confessor 
will  seal  my  last  words  with  the  seal  of  sanc 
tity  when  his  holy  office  is  done.  They  of 
the  outside  world  may  send  their  creatures 
into  wrecked  homes  and  death-smitten  fire 
sides,  and  their  newspapers  will  batten  on 
blood  and  tears,  but  with  me  their  spies  must 
halt  before  the  confessional.  They  know  that 
Tessie  is  dead  and  that  I  am  dying.  They 
know  how  the  people  in  the  house,  aroused 
by  an  infernal  scream,  rushed  into  my  room 


THE  YELLOW  SIGN.  J2* 

and  found  one  living  and  two  $ea.d,  but  they 
do  not  know  what  I  shall  tell  them  now ; 
they  do  not  know  that  the  doctor  said  as  ho 
pointed  to  a  horrible  decomposed  heap  on  the 
floor — the  livid  corpse  of  the  watchman  from 
the  church  :  "  I  have  no  theory,  no  explana* 
tion.  That  man  must  have  been  dead  for 
months  ! " 

*  *  *  *  * 

I   think  I   am  dying.    I  wish   the    prieat 
would 


THE  DEMOISELLE  D*YS. 


*  Mais  ie  croy  que  je 
Suis  descendu  on  puiz 
Tenebreux  onquel  disoit 
Heraclytus  esire  Veritd  cacWe." 


X 


THE  DEMOISELLE  D'YS. 

"  There  be  three  things  which  are  too  wonderful  for  me,  yea, 
four  which  I  know  not : 

"  The  way  of  an  eagle  in  the  air;  the  way  of  a  serpent  upon  a 
a  rock ;  the  way  of  a  ship  in  the  midst  of  the  sea ;  and  the  way 
of  a  man  with  a  maid." 

I. 

HE  utter  desolation  of  the  scene  be 
gan  to  have  its  effect ;  I  sat  down  to 
face  the  situation  and,  if  possible,  re 
call  to  mind  some  landmark  which 
might  aid  me  in  extricating  myself  from  my 
present  position.  If  I  could  only  find  the 
ocean  again  all  would  be  clear,  for  I  knew  one 
could  see  the  island  of  Groix  from  the  cliffs. 

I  laid  down  my  gun,  and  kneeling  behind  a 
rock  lighted  a  pipe.  Then  I  looked  at  my 
watch.  It  was  nearly  four  o'clock.  I  might 
have  wandered  far  from  Kerselec  since  day 
break. 

Standing  the  day  before  on  the  cliffs  below 
Kerselec  with  Goulven,  looking  out  over  the 
sombre  moors  among  which  I  had  now  lost 
my  way,  these  downs  had  appeared  to  me 
level  as  a  meadow,  stretching  to  the  horizon, 
and  although  I  knew  how  deceptive  is  dis 
tance,  I  could  not  realize  that  what  from  Ker 
selec  seemed  to  be  mere  grassy  hollows  were 
great  valleys  covered  with  gorse  and  heather, 
and  what  looked  like  scattered  boulders  were 
in  reality  enormous  cliffs  of  granite. 


132 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


"  It's  a  bad  place  for  a  stranger,"  old  Goul- 
ven  had  said  ;  "  you'd  better  take  a  guide  ;  " 
and  I  had  replied,  "  I  shall  not  lose  myself." 
Now  I  knew  that  I  had  lost  myself,  as  I  sat 
there  smoking,  with  the  sea-wind  blowing  in 
my  face.  On  every  side  stretched  the  moor 
land,  covered  with  flowering  gorse  and  heath 
and  granite  boulders.  There  was  not  a  tree 
in  sight,  much  less  a  house.  After  a  while,  I 
picked  up  the  gun,  and  turning  my  back  on 
the  sun  tramped  on  again. 

There  was  little  use  in  following  any  of  the 
brawling  streams  which  every  now  and  then 
crossed  my  path,  for,  instead  of  flowing  into 
the  sea,  they  ran  inland  to  reedy  pools  in  the 
hollows  of  the  moors.  I  had  followed  several, 
but  they  all  led  me  to  swamps  or  silent  little 
ponds  from  which  the  snipe  rose  peeping  and 
wheeled  away  in  an  ecstasy  of  fright.  I  began 
to  feel  fatigued,  and  the  gun  galled  my  shoulder 
in  spite  of  the  double  pads.  The  sun  sank 
lower  and  lower,  shining  level  across  yellow 
gorse  and  the  moorland  pools. 

As  I  walked  my  own  gigantic  shadow  led 
me  on,  seeming  to  lengthen  at  every  step. 
The  gorse  scraped  against  my  leggings, 
crackled  beneath  my  feet,  showering  the 
brown  earth  with  blossoms,  and  the  brake 
bowed  and  billowed  along  my  path.  From 
tufts  of  heath  rabbits  scurried  away  through 
the  bracken,  and  among  the  swamp  grass  I 
heard  the  wild  duck's  drowsy  quack.  Once  a 
fox  stole  across  my  path,  and  again,  as  I 
stooped  to  drink  at  a  hurrying  rill,  a  heron 
flapped  heavily  from  the  reeds  beside  me.  I 
turned  to  look  at  the  sun.  It  seemed  to  touch 
the  edges  of  the  plain.  When  at  last  I  decided 
that  it  was  useless  to  go  on,  and  that  I  must 


THE  DEMOISELLE  D'YS.  j-^ 

make  up  my  mind  to  spend  at  least  one  night 
on  the  moors,  I  threw  myself  down  thoroughly 
fagged  out.  The  evening  sunlight  slanted 
warm  across  my  body,  but  the  sea-winds 
began  to  rise,  and  I  felt  a  chill  strike  through 
me  from  my  wet  shooting-boots.  High  over 
head  gulls  were  wheeling  and  tossing  like 
bits  of  white  paper  ;  from  some  distant  marsh 
a  solitary  curlew  called.  Little  by  little  the 
sun  sank  into  the  plain,  and  the  zenith  flushed 
with  the  after-glow.  I  watched  the  sky  change 
from  palest  gold  to  pink  and  then  to  smoulder 
ing  fire.  Clouds  of  midges  danced  above  me, 
and  high  in  the  calm  air  a  bat  dipped  and 
soared.  My  eyelids  began  to  droop.  Then 
as  I  shook  off  the  drowsiness  a  sudden  crash 
among  the  bracken  roused  me.  I  raised  my 
eyes.  A  great  bird  hung  quivering  in  the  air 
above  my  face.  For  an  instant  I  stared,  in 
capable  of  motion  ;  then  something  leaped 
past  me  in  the  ferns  and  the  bird  rose,  wheeled, 
and  pitched  headlong  into  the  brake. 

I  was  on  my  feet  in  an  instant  peering 
through  the  gorse.  There  came  the  sound  of 
a  struggle  from  a  bunch  of  heather  close  by, 
and  then  all  was  quiet.  I  stepped  forward, 
my  gun  poised,  but  when  I  came  to  the  heather 
the  gun  fell  under  my  arm  again,  and  I  stood 
motionless  in  silent  astonishment.  A  dead 
hare  lay  on  the  ground,  and  on  the  hare  stood 
a  magnificent  falcon,  one  talon  buried  in  the 
creature's  neck,  the  other  planted  firmly  on 
its  limp  flank.  But  what  astonished  me,  was 
not  the  mere  sight  of  a  falcon  sitting  upon  its 
prey.  I  had  seen  that  more  than  once.  It 
was  that  the  falcon  was  fitted  with  a  sort  of 
leash  about  both  talons,  and  from  the  leash 
hung  a  round  bit  of  metal  like  a  sleigh-bell. 


134 


THE  KING  Iff  YELLOW. 


The  bird  turned  its  fierce  yellow  eyes  on  me, 
and  then  stooped  and  struck  its  curved  beak 
into  the  quarry.  At  the  same  instant  hurried 
steps  sounded  among  the  heather,  and  a  girl 
sprang  into  the  covert  in  front.  Without  a 
glance  at  me  she  walked  up  to  the  falcon,  and 
passing  her  gloved  hand  under  its  breast, 
raised  it  from  the  quarry.  Then  she  deftly 
slipped  a  small  hood  over  the  bird's  head,  and 
holding  it  out  on  her  gauntlet,  stooped  and 
picked  up  the  hare. 

She  passed  a  cord  about  the  animal's  legs 
and  fastened  the  end  of  the  thong  to  her 
girdle.  Then  she  started  to  retrace  her  steps 
through  the  covert.  As  she  passed  me  I 
raised  my  cap  and  she  acknowledged  my 
presence  with  a  scarcely  perceptible  inclina 
tion.  I  had  been  so  astonished,  so  lost  in 
admiration  of  the  scene  before  my  eyes,  that 
it  had  not  occurred  to  me  that  here  was  my 
salvation.  But  as  she  moved  away  I  recol 
lected  that  unless  I  wanted  to  sleep  on  a  windy 
moor  that  night  I  had  better  recover  my 
speech  without  delay.  At  my  first  word  she 
hesitated,  and  as  I  stepped  before  her  I  thought 
a  look  of  fear  came  into  her  beautiful  eyes.  But 
as  I  humbly  explained  my  unpleasant  plight, 
her  face  flushed  and  she  looked  at  mein  wonder. 

"  Surely  you  did  not  come  from  Kerselec  !  " 
she  repeated. 

Her  sweet  voice  had  no  trace  of  the  Breton 
accent  nor  of  any  accent  which  I  knew,  and 
yet  there  was  something  in  it  I  seemed  to  have 
heard  before,  something  quaint  and  inde 
finable,  like  the  theme  of  an  old  song. 

I  explained  that  I  was  an  American,  unac 
quainted  with  Finistere,  shooting  there  for 
my  own  amusement. 


THE  DEMOISELLE  V'YS.  j^r 

••  An  American,"  she  repeated  in  the  same 
quaint  musical  tones.  "  I  have  never  before 
*een  an  American." 

For  a  moment  she  stood  silent,  then  look- 
Ing  at  me  she  said  :  "  if  you  should  walk  all 
night  you  could  not  reach  Kerselec  now,  even 
if  you  had  a  guide." 

This  was  pleasant  news. 

"  But,"  I  began,  "  if  I  could  only  find  a 
peasant's  hut  where  I  might  get  something  to 
eat,  and  shelter." 

The  falcon  on  her  wrist  fluttered  and  shook 
its  head.  The  girl  smoothed  its  glossy  back 
and  glanced  at  me. 

"  Look  around,"  she  said  gently.  "  Can 
you  see  the  end  of  these  moors  ?  Look,  north, 
south,  east,  west.  Can  you  see  anything  but 
moorland  and  bracken  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  said. 

"  The  moor  is  wild  and  desolate.  It  is 
easy  to  enter,  but  sometimes  they  who  enter 
never  leave  it.  There  are  no  peasants'  huts 
here." 

"Well,"  I  said  "if  you  will  tell  me  in  which 
direction  Kerselec  lies,  to-morrow  it  will  take 
me  no  longer  to  go  back  than  it  has  to  come." 

She  looked  at  me  again  with  an  expression 
almost  like  pity. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "to  come  is  easy  and 
takes  hours  ;  to  go  is  different — and  may  take 
centuries." 

I  stared  at  her  in  amazement  but  decided 
that  I  had  misunderstood  her.  Then  before 
I  had  time  to  speak  she  drew  a  whistle  from 
her  belt  and  sounded  it. 

"  Sit  down  and  rest,"  she  said  to  me  ;  "  you 
have  come  a  long  distance  and  are  tired." 

She  gathered  up   her  pleated  skirts  and 


!26  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

motioning  me  to  follow  picked  her  dainty  way 
through  the  gorse  to  a  flat  rock  among  tha 
ferns. 

"  They  will  be  here  directly,"  she  said,  and 
taking  a  seat  at  one  end  of  the  rock  invited 
me  to  sit  down  on  the  other  edge.  The  after 
glow  was  beginning  to  fade  in  the  sky  and  a 
single  star  twinkled  faintly  through  the  rosy 
haze.  A  long  wavering  triangle  of  water-fowl 
drifted  southward  over  our  heads  and  from 
the  swamps  around  plover  were  calling. 

"  They  are  very  beautiful — these  moors," 
she  said  quietly. 

"  Beautiful,  but  cruel  to  strangers,"  I  an* 
swered. 

"  Beautiful  and  cruel,"  she  repeated  dream 
ily,  "  beautiful  and  cruel." 

"  Like  a  woman,"  I  said  stupidly. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried  with  a  little  catch  in  her 
breath  and  looked  at  me.  Her  dark  eyes  met 
mine  and  I  thought  she  seemed  angry  or 
frightened. 

"  Like  a  woman,"  she  repeated  under  her 
breath,  "  how  cruel  to  say  so  ! "  Then  after 
a  pause,  as  though  speaking  aloud  to  herself. 
"  how  cruel  for  him  to  say  that." 
r  I  don't  know  what  sort  of  an  apology  I 
offered  for  my  inane,  though  harmless  speech, 
but  I  know  that  she  seemed  so  troubled  about 
it  that  I  began  to  think  I  had  said  something 
very  dreadful  without  knowing  it,  and  remenv 
bered  with  horror  the  pitfalls  and  snares  which 
the  French  language  sets  for  foreigners. 
While  I  was  trying  to  imagine  what  I  might 
have  said,  a  sound  of  voices  came  across  the 
moor  and  the  girl  rose1  to  her  feet. 

"No,"  she  said,  with  a  trace  of  a  smile  on 
her  pale  face,  "  I  will  not  accept  your  apolo- 


THE  DEMOISELLE  D'YS.  i^y 

g!es,  Monsieur,  but  I  must  prove  you  wrong 
and  that  shall  be  my  revenge.  Look.  Her« 
come  Hastur  and  Raoul." 

Two  men  loomed  up  in  the  twilight.  One 
had  a  sack  across  his  shoulders  and  the  other 
carried  a  hoop  before  him  as  a  waiter  carries 
a  tray.  The  hoop  was  fastened  with  straps 
to  his  shoulders  and  around  the  edge  of  the 
circlet  sat  three  hooded  falcons  fitted  with 
tinkling  bells.  The  girl  stepped  up  to  the 
falconer,  and  with  a  quick  turn  of  her  wrist 
transferred  her  falcon  to  the  hoop  where  it 
quickly  sidled  off  and  nestled  among  its  mates 
who  shook  their  hooded  heads  and  ruffled 
their  feathers  till  the  belled  jesses  tinkled 
again.  The  other  man  stepped  forward  and 
bowing  respectfully  took  up  the  hare  and 
dropped  it  into  the  game-sack. 

"These  are  my  piqueurs,"  said  the  girl 
turning  to  me  with  a  gentle  dignity.  "  Raoul 
is  a  good  fauconnier  and  I  shall  some  day  make 
him  grand  veneur.  Hastur  is  incomparable." 

The  two  silent  men  saluted  me  respectfully. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,  Monsieur,  that  I  should 
prove  you  wrong?"  she  continued.  "This 
then  is  my  revenge,  that  you  do  me  the  court 
esy  of  accepting  food  and  shelter  at  my  own 
house." 

Before  I  could  answer  she  spoke  to  the  fal 
coners  who  started  instantly  across  the  heatn. 
and  with  a  gracious  gesture  to  me  she  fol 
lowed.  I  don't  know  whether  I  made  her 
Understand  how  profoundly  grateful  I  felt,  but 
she  seemed  pleased  to  listen,  as  we  walked 
Over  the  dewy  heather. 

"Are  you  not  very  tired  ?  "  she  asked. 

I  had  clean  forgotten  my  fatigue  in  her  pres 
ence  and  I  told  her  so. 


I-j8  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

"  Don't  you  think  your  gallantry  is  a  little 
old-fashioned,"  she  said  ;  and  when  I  looked 
confused  and  humbled,  she  added  quietly, 
"  oh,  I  like  it,  I  like  everything  old-fashioned, 
and  it  is  delightful  to  hear  you  say  such  pretty 
things." 

The  moorland  around  us  was  very  still  now 
under  its  ghostly  sheet  of  mist.  The  plover 
had  ceased  their  calling  ;  the  crickets  and  all 
the  little  creatures  of  the  fields  were  silent  as 
we  passed,  yet  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  could 
hear  them  beginning  again  far  behind  us. 
Well  in  advance  the  two  tall  falconers  strode 
across  the  heather  and  the  faint  jingling  of  the 
hawk's  bells  came  to  our  ears  in  distant  mur 
muring  chimes. 

Suddenly  a  splendid  hound  dashed  out  of 
the  mist  in  front,  followed  by  another  and  an 
other  until  half  a  dozen  or  more  were  bound 
ing  and  leaping  around  the  girl  beside  me. 
She  caressed  and  quieted  them  with  her  gloved 
hand,  speaking  to  them  in  quaint  terms  which 
I  remembered  to  have  seen  in  old  French 
manuscripts. 

Then  the  falcons  on  the  circlet  borne  by  the 
falconer  ahead  began  to  beat  their  wings  and 
scream,  and  from  somewhere  out  of  sight  the 
notes  of  a  hunting-horn  floated  across  the 
moor.  The  hounds  sprang  away  before  us 
and  vanished  in  the  twilight,  the  talcons 
flapped  and  squealed  upon  their  perch  and  the 
girl  taking  up  the  song  of  the  horn  began  to 
hum.  Clear  and  mellow  her  voice  sounded  in 
the  night  air. 

"  Chasseur,  chasseur,  chassez  encore, 
Quittez  Rosette  et  Jeanneton, 
Tonton,  tonton,  tontaine,  tonton, 
Ou,  pour,  rabattre,  des  1'aurore, 
Que  les  Amours  soient  de  nlanton, 
Ten  ton,  tontaine,  ton  ton.'' 


THE  DEMOISELLE  D'YS. 


139 


As  I  listened  to  her  lovely  voice  a  gray  mass 
which  rapidly  grew  more  distinct  loomed  up 
in  front,  and  the  horn  rang  out  joyously 
through  the  tumult  of  the  hounds  and  falcons. 
A  torch  glimmered  at  a  gate,  a  light  streamed 
through  an  opening  door,  and  we  stepped  upon 
a  wooden  bridge  which  trembled  under  our 
feet  and  rose  creaking  and  straining  behind 
us  as  we  passed  over  the  moat  and  into  a 
small  stone  court,  walled  on  every  side.  From 
an  open  doorway  a  man  came  and  bending  in 
salutation  presented  a  cup  to  the  girl  beside 
me.  She  took  the  cup  and  touched  it  with  her 
lips,  then  lowering  it  turned  to  me  and  said 
in  a  low  voice,  "  I  bid  you  welcome." 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  falconers  came 
with  another  cup,  but  before  handing  it  to  me, 
presented  it  to  the  girl,  who  tasted  it.  The 
falconer  made  a  gesture  to  receive  it,  but  she 
hesitated  a  moment  and  then  stepping  forward 
offered  me  the  cup  with  her  own  hands.  I 
felt  this  to  be  an  act  of  extraordinary  gracious- 
ness,  but  hardly  knew  what  was  expected  of 
me,  and  did  not  raise  it  to  my  lips  at  once. 
The  girl  flushed  crimson.  I  saw  that  I  must 
act  quickly. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  faltered,  "  a  stranger 
whom  you  have  saved  from  dangers  he  may 
never  realize,  empties  this  cup  to  the  gentlest 
and  loveliest  hostess  of  France. 

"In  His  name,"  she  murmured  crossing1 
herself  as  I  drained  the  cup.  Then  stepping 
into  the  doorway  she  turned  to  me  with  a 
pretty  gesture  and  taking  my  hand  in  hers, 
led  me  into  the  house,  saying  again  and  again : 
"  You  are  very  welcome,  indeed  you  are  wel 
come  to  the  Chateau  d'Ys." 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


II. 


AWOKE  next  morning-  with  the 
music  of  the  horn  in  my  ears,  and 
leaping  out  of  the  ancient  bed,  went 
to  a  curtained  window  where  the 
sunlight  filtered  through  little  deep-set  panes. 
The  horn  ceased  as  I  looked  into  the  court 
below. 

A  man  who  might  have  been  brother  to  the 
two  falconers  of  the  night  before  stood  in  the 
midst  of  a  pack  of  hounds.  A  curved  horn 
was  strapped  over  his  back,  and  in  his  hand 
he  held  a  long-lashed  whip.  The  dogs  whined 
and  yelped,  dancing  around  him  in  anticipa 
tion  ;  there  was  the  stamp  of  horses  too  in  the 
walled  yard. 

"  Mount  !  "  cried  a  voice  in  Breton,  and 
with  a  clatter  of  hoofs  the  two  falconers,  with 
falcons  upon  their  wrists,  rode  into  the  court 
yard  among  the  hounds.  Then  I  heard  another 
voice  which  sent  the  blood  throbbing  through 
my  heart :  "  Piriou  Louis,  hunt  the  hounds 
well  and  spare  neither  spur  nor  whip.  Thou 
Raoul  and  thou  Gaston,  see  that  the  epervier 
does  not  prove  himself  niais,  and  if  it  be  best 
in  your  judgment,  faites  courtoisie  a  Voiseau. 
Jardiner  un  oiseau  like  the  m-ue  there  on 
Hastur's  wrist  is  not  difficult,  but  thou,  Raoul 
mayest  not  find  it  so  simple  to  govern  that 
hagard.  Twice  last  week  he  foamed  au  vif 


THE  DEMOISELLE  &YS.  l^l 

and  lost  the  beccade  although  he  is  used  to  the 
leurre.  The  bird  acts  like  a  stupid  branchier. 
Paitre  un  hagard  n'est  pas  si  facile" 

Was  I  dreaming  ?  The  old  language  of 
falconry  which  I  had  read  in  yellow  manu 
scripts — the  old  forgotten  French  of  the  middle 
ages  was  sounding  in  my  ears  while  the  hounds 
bayed  and  the  hawk's  bells  tinkled  accompani 
ment  to  the  stamping  horses.  She  spoke  again 
in  the  sweet  forgotten  language  : 

"  If  you  would  rather  attach  the  longe  and 
leave  thy  hagard  au  bloc,  Raoul,  I  shall  say 
nothing  ;  for  it  were  a  pity  to  spoil  so  fair  a 
day's  sport  with  an  ill-trained  sors.  Essimer 
abaissert — it  is  possibly  the  best  way.  (^a  lui 
donnera  des  reins.  I  was  perhaps  hasty  with 
the  bird.  It  takes  time  to  pass  a  lafiliere 
and  the  exercises  d'escap" 

Then  the  falconer  Raoul  bowed  in  his  stir 
rups  and  replied  :  "  If  it  be  the  pleasure  of 
Mademoiselle,  I  shall  keep  the  hawk." 

"  It  is  my  wish,"  she  answered.  "  Falconry 
I  know,  but  you  have  yet  to  give  me  many  a 
lesson  in  Autourserie,  my  poor  Raoul.  Sieur 
Piriou  Louis,  mount !  " 

The  huntsman  sprang  into  an  archway  and 
in  an  instant  returned,  mounted  upon  a  strong 
black  horse,  followed  by  a  piqueur  also 
mounted. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  cried  joyously,  "  speed  Glemarec 
Rene"  !  speed  !  speed  all  !  Sound  thy  horn 
Sieur  Piriou  !  " 

The  silvery  music  of  the  hunting-horn  filled 
the  courtyard,  the  hounds  sprang  through 
the  gateway  and  galloping  hoof-beats  plunged 
out  of  the  paved  court  ;  loud  on  the  draw 
bridge,  suddenly  muffled,  then  lost  in  the 
heather  and  bracken  of  the  moors.  Distant 


14*  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

and  more  distant  sounded  the  horn,  until  it 
became  so  faint  that  the  sudden  carol  of  a 
soaring  lark  drowned  it  in  my  ears.  I  heard 
the  voice  below  responding  to  some  call  from 
within  the  house. 

"I  do  not  regret  the  chase,  I  will  go 
another  time.  Courtesy  to  the  stranger,  Pc- 
lagie,  remember  1  " 

And  a  feeble  voice  came  quavering  from 
within  the  house,  "  Courtoisie" 

I  stripped,  and  rubbed  myself  from  head  to 
foot  in  the  huge  earthen  basin  ot  icy  water 
which  stood  upon  the  stone  floor  at  the  foot 
of  my  bed.  Then  I  looked  about  for  my 
clothes.  They  were  gone,  but  on  a  settle  near 
the  door  lay  a  heap  of  garments  which  I 
inspected  with  astonishment.  As  my  clothes 
had  vanished  I  was  compelled  to  attire  myself 
in  the  costume  which  had  evidently  been 
placed  there  for  me  to  wear  while  my  own 
clothes  dried.  Everything  was  there,  cap, 
shoes,  and  hunting  doublet  of  silvery  gray 
homespun  ;  but  the  close-fitting  costume  and 
seamless  shoes  belonged  to  another  century, 
and  I  remembered  the  strange  costumes  of  the 
three  falconers  in  the  courtyard.  I  was  sure 
that  it  was  not  the  modern  dress  of  any  por 
tion  of  France  or  Brittany  ;  but  not  until  I  was 
dressed  and  stood  before  a  mirror  between  the 
windows  did  I  realize  that  I  was  clothed  much 
more  like  a  young  huntsman  of  the  middle 
ages  than  like  a  Breton  of  that  day.  I  hesi 
tated  and  picked  up  the  cap.  Should  I  go 
down  and  present  myself  in  that  strange 
guise  ?  There  seemed  to  be  no  help  for  it, 
my  own  clothes  were  gone  and  there  was  no 
bell  in  the  ancient  chamber  to  call  a  servant, 
so  I  contented  myself  with  removing  a  short 


THE  DEMOISELLE  D'YS.  I4» 

hawk's  feather  from  the  cap,  and  opening  the 
door  went  downstairs. 

By  the  fireplace  in  the  large  room  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  an  old  Breton  woman  sat 
spinning  with  a  distaff.  She  looked  up  at  me 
when  I  appeared,  and,  smiling  frankly,  wished 
me  health  in  the  Breton  language,  to  which  I 
laughingly  replied  in  French.  At  the  same 
moment  my  hostess  appeared  and  returned 
my  salutation  with  a  grace  and  dignity  that 
sent  a  thrill  to  my  heart.  Her  lovely  head 
with  its  dark  curly  hair  was  crowned  with  a 
head-dress  which  set  all  doubts  as  to  the  epoch 
of  my  own  costume  at  rest.  Her  slender 
figure  was  exquisitely  set  off  in  the  homespun 
hunting-gown  edged  with  silver,  and  on  her 
guantlet-covered  wrist  she  bore  one  of  her 
petted  hawks.  With  perfect  simplicity  she 
took  my  hand  and  led  me  into  the  garden 
in  the  court,  and  seating  herself  before  a  table 
invited  me  very  sweetly  to  sit  beside  her. 
Then  she  asked  me  in  her  soft  quaint  accent 
how  I  had  passed  the  night  and  whether  I  was 
very  much  inconvenienced  by  wearing  the 
clothes  which  old  Pelagic  had  put  there  for 
me  while  I  slept.  I  looked  at  my  own  clothes 
and  shoes,  drying  in  the  sun  by  the  garden- 
wall,  and  hated  them.  What  horrors  they  were 
compared  with  the  graceful  costume  which  I 
now  wore  !  I  told  her  this  laughing,  but  she 
agreed  with  me  very  seriously. 

"  We  will  throw  them  away,"  she  said  in  a 
quiet  voice.  In  my  astonishment  I  attempted 
to  explain  that  I  not  only  could  not  think  of 
accepting  clothes  from  anybody,  although  for 
all  I  knew  it  might  be  the  custom  of  hos 
pitality  in  that  part  of  the  country,  but  that  I 


144 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


should  cut  an  impossible  figure  if  I  returned 
to  France  clothed  as  I  was  then. 

She  laughed  and  tossed  her  pretty  head, 
saying  something  in  old  French  which  I  did 
not  understand,  and  then  Pelagic  trotted  out 
with  a  tray  on  which  stood  two  bowls  of  milk, 
a  loaf  of  white  bread,  fruit,  a  platter  of  honey 
comb,  and  a  flagon  of  deep  red  wine.  "  You 
see  I  have  not  yet  broken  my  fast  because  I 
wished  you  to  eat  with  me.  But  I  am  very 
hungry,"  she  smiled. 

"  I  would  rather  die  than  forget  one  word  of 
what  you  have  said  !  "  I  blurted  out  while  my 
cheeks  burned,  "  She  will  think  me  mad," 
I  added  to  myself,  but  she  turned  to  me  with 
sparkling  eyes. 

"Ah!"  she  murmured.  "  Then  Monsieur 
knows  all  that  there  is  of  chivalry " 

She  crossed  herself  and  broke  bread — I  sat 
and  watched  her  white  hands,  not  daring  to 
raise  my  eyes  to  hers. 

"  Will  you  not  eat,"  she  asked  ;  "  why  do 
you  look  so  troubled  ?  " 

Ah,  why  ?  I  knew  it  now.  I  knew  I  would 
give  my  life  to  touch  with  my  lips  those  rosy 
palms — I  understood  now  that  from  the  mo 
ment  when  I  looked  into  her  dark  eyes  there 
on  the  moor  last  night  I  had  loved  her.  My 
great  and  sudden  passion  held  me  speechless. 

"  Are  you  ill  at  ease  ?  "  she  asked  again. 

Then  like  a  man  who  pronounces  his  own 
doom  I  answered  in  a  low  voice  :  "  Yes,  I  am 
ill  at  ease  for  love  of  you."  And  as  she  did 
not  stir  nor  answer,  the  same  power  moved 
my  lips  in  spite  of  me  and  I  said,  "  I,  who  am 
unworthy  of  the  lightest  of  your  thoughts,  I 
who  abuse  hospitality  and  repay  your  gentle 
courtesy  with  bold  presumption,  I  love  you." 


THE  DEMOISELLE  D'YS.  145 

She  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hands,  and 
answered  softly,  "I  love  you.  Your  words 
are  very  dear  to  me.  I  love  you." 

"  Then  I  shall  win  you." 

"  Win  me,"  she  replied. 

But  all  the  time  I  had  been  sitting  silent,  my 
face  turned  toward  her.  She  also  silent,  her 
sweet  face  resting  on  her  upturned  palm,  sat 
facing  me,  and  as  her  eyes  looked  into  mine, 
I  knew  that  neither  she  nor  1  had  spoken 
human  speech  ;  but  I  knew  that  her  soul  had 
answered  mine,  and  I  drew  myself  up  feeling 
youth  and  joyous  love  coursing  through  every 
vein.  She,  with  a  bright  color  in  her  lovely 
face,  seemed  as  one  awakened  from  a  dream, 
and  her  eyes  sought  mine  with  a  questioning 
glance  which  made  me  tremble  with  delight. 
We  broke  our  fast,  speaking  of  ourselves.  I 
told  her  my  name  and  she  told  me  hers,  the 
IMmoiselle  Jeanne  d'Ys. 

She  spoke  of  her  father  and  mother's  death, 
and  how  the  nineteen  of  her  years  had  been 
passed  in  the  little  fortified  farm  alone  with 
her  nurse  Pelagic.  Glemarec  Ren6  the 
piqueur,  and  the  four  falconers,  Raoul, 
Gaston,  Hastur,  and  the  Sieur  Piriou  Louis, 
who  had  served  her  father.  She  had  never 
been  outside  the  moorland — never  even  had 
seen  a  human  soul  before,  except  the  falcon 
ers  and  Pelagic.  She  did  not  know  how  she 
had  heard  of  Kerselec  ;  perhaps  the  falconers 
had  spoken  of  it.  She  knew  the  legends  of 
Loup  Garou  and  Jeanne  la  Flamme  from  her 
nurse  Pelagic.  She  embroidered  and  spun 
flax.  Her  hawks  and  hounds  were  her  only 
distraction.  When  she  had  met  me  there  on 
the  moor  she  had  been  so  frightened  that  she 
almost  dropped  at  the  sound  of  my  voice. 


j  .g  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

She  had,  it  was  true,  seen  ships  at  sea  from 
the  cliffs,  but  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  the 
moors  over  which  she  galloped  were  desti 
tute  of  any  sign  of  human  life.  There  was  a 
legend  which  old  Pelagic  told,  how  anybody 
once  lost  in  the  unexplored  moorland  might 
never  return,  because  the  moors  were  en 
chanted.  She  did  not  know  whether  it  was  true, 
she  never  had  thought  about  it  until  she  met  me. 
She  did  not  know  whether  the  falconers  had 
even  been  outside  or  whether  they  could  go 
if  they  would.  The  books  in  the  house  which 
Pelagic  the  nurse  had  taught  her  to  read 
were  hundreds  of  years  old. 

All  this  she  told  me  with  a  sweet  serious 
ness  seldom  seen  in  any  one  but  children. 
My  own  name  she  found  easy  to  pronounce 
and  insisted,  because  my  first  name  was  Philip, 
I  must  have  French  blood  in  me.  She  did 
not  seem  curious  to  learn  anything  about  the 
outside  world,  and  I  thought  perhaps  she  con 
sidered  it  had  forfeited  her  interest  and  respect 
from  the  stories  of  her  nurse. 

We  were  still  sitting  at  the  table  and  she 
was  throwing  grapes  to  the  small  field  birds 
which  came  fearlessly  to  ou^  very  feet. 

I  began  to  speak  in  a  vague  way  of  going, 
but  she  would  not  hear  of  it,  and  before  I  knew 
it  I  had  promised  to  stay  a  week  and  hunt 
with  hawk  and  hound  in  their  company.  I 
also  obtained  permission  to  come  again  from 
Kerselec  and  visit  her  after  my  return. 

"  Why,"  she  said  innocently,  "  I  do  not 
know  what  I  should  do  if  you  never  came 
back  ;  "  and  I,  knowing  that  I  had  no  right  to 
awaken  her  with  the  sudden  shock  which  the 
avowal  of  my  own  love  would  bring  to  her, 
sat  silent,  hardly  daring:  to  breathe. 


THE  DEMOISELLE  D'YS.  ,^ 

••  You  will  come  very  often  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Very  often,"  I  said. 

"  Every  day  ?  " 

"  Every  day." 

"Oh,"  she  sighed,  "lam  very  happy—* 
come  and  see  my  hawks." 

She  rose  and  took  my  hand  again  with  a 
childlike  innocence  of  possession,  and  we 
walked  through  the  garden  and  fruit  trees  to 
a  grassy  lawn  which  was  bordered  by  a  brook. 
Over  the  lawn  were  scattered  fifteen  or  twenty 
stumps  of  trees — partially  imbedded  in  the 
grass — and  upon  all  of  these  except  two  sat 
falcons.  They  were  attached  to  the  stumps 
by  thongs  which  were  in  turn  fastened  with 
steel  rivets  to  their  legs  just  above  the  talons. 
A  little  stream  of  pure  spring  water  flowed 
in  a  winding  course  within  easy  distance  of 
each  perch. 

The  birds  set  up  a  clamor  when  the  girl  ap 
peared,  but  she  went  from  one  to  another 
caressing  some,  taking  others  for  an  instant 
upon  her  wrist,  or  stooping  to  adjust  their 
jesses. 

"  Are  they  not  pretty  ?  "  she  said.  "  See, 
here  is  a  falcon-gentil."  We  call  it 'ignoble/ 
because  it  takes  the  quarry  in  direct  chase. 
This  is  a  blue  falcon.  In  falconry  we  call  it 
« noble '  because  it  rises  over  the  quarry,  and 
wheeling,  drops  upon  it  from  above.  This 
white  bird  is  a  gerfalcon  from  the  north.  It  is 
also  'noble!'  Here  is  a  merlin,  and  this 
tiercelet  is  a  falcon-heroner." 

I  asked  her  how  she  had  learned  the  old 
language  of  falconry.  She  did  not  remember, 
but  thought  her  father  must  have  taught  it  to 
her  when  she  was  very  young. 

Then  she  led  me  away  and  showed  me  tht 


143  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

young  falcons  still  in  the  nest.  "They  are 
termed  niais  in  falconry,"  she  explained.  "  A 
branchier  is  the  young  bird  which  is  just  able 
to  leave  the  nest  and  hop  from  branch  to 
branch.  A  young  bird  which  has  not  yet 
moulted  is  called  a  sors,  and  a  mue  is  a  hawk 
which  has  moulted  in  captivity.  When  we 
catch  a  wild  falcon  which  has  changed  its 
plumage  we  term  it  a  hagard.  Raoul  first 
taught  me  to  dress  a  falcon.  Shall  I  teach 
you  how  it  is  done  ?  " 

She  seated  herself  on  the  bank  of  the  stream 
among  the  falcons  and  I  threw  myself  at  her 
feet  to  listen. 

Then  the  Demoiselle  d'Ys  held  up  one  rosy- 
tipped  finger  and  began  very  gravely, 

First  one  must  catch  the  falcon." 

"I  am  caught,"  I  answered. 

She  laughed  very  prettily  and  told  me  my 
dressage  would  perhaps  be  difficult  as  I  was 
noble. 

"  I  am  already  tamed,"  I  replied  ;  "jessed 
and  belled." 

She  laughed,  delighted.  "  Oh,  my  brave 
falcon  ;  then  you  will  return  at  my  call  ?  " 

"  I  am  yours,"  I  answered  gravely. 

She  sat  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  the 
color  heightened  in  her  cheeks  and  she  held 
up  her  finger  again  saying,  "  Listen  ;  I  wish  to 
speak  of  falconry — 

"  I  listen,  Countess  Jeanne  d'Ys." 

But  again  she  fell  into  the  reverie,  and  her 
eyes  seemed  fixed  on  something  beyond  the 
summer  clouds. 

"  Philip,"  she  said  at  last. 

"Jeanne,"  I  whispered. 

"  That  is  all, — that  is  what  I  wished/'  she 
sighed, — "  Philip  and  Jeanne." 


THE  DEMOISELLE  &YS  j  .<- 

She  held  her  hand  toward  me  and  I  touched 
it  with  my  lips. 

"Win  me,"  she  said,  but  this  time  it  was 
the  body  and  soul  which  spoke  in  unison. 

After  a  while  she  began  again  :  "  Let  us 
speak  of  falconry." 

"  Begin,"  I  replied  ;  "  we  have  caught  the 
falcon." 

Then  Jeanne  d'Ys  took  my  hand  in  both  of 
hers  and  told  me  how  with  infinite  patience 
the  young  falcon  was  taught  to  perch  upon 
the  wrist,  how  little  by  little  it  became  used 
to  the  belled  jesses  and  the  chaperon  d  cor- 
nette. 

"  They  must  first  have  a  good  appetite," 
she  said  ;  "  then  little  by  little  I  reduce  their 
nourishment  which  in  falconry  we  call  pat. 
When  after  many  nights  passed  au  bloc  as 
these  birds  are  now,  I  prevail  upon  the  hagard 
to  stay  quietly  on  the  wrist,  then  the  bird  is 
ready  to  be  taught  to  come  for  its  food.  I 
fix  the  pat  to  the  end  of  a  thong  or  leurre, 
and  teach  the  bird  to  come  to  me  as  soon  as  I 
begin  to  whirl  the  cord  in  circles  about  my 
head.  At  first  I  drop  the  pat  when  the  falcon 
comes,  and  he  eats  the  food  on  the  ground. 
After  a  little  he  will  learn  to  seize  the  leurre 
in  motion  as  I  whirl  it  around  my  head,  or 
drag  it  over  the  ground.  After  this  it  is  easy 
to  teach  the  falcon  to  strike  at  game,  always 
remembering  to  'faire  courtoisie  a  foiseau* 
that  is,  to  allow  the  bird  to  taste  the  quarry." 

A  squeal  from  one  of  the  falcons  inter 
rupted  her,  and  she  arose  to  adjust  the  longe 
which  had  become  whipped  about  the  bloc,  but 
the  bird  still  flapped  its  wings  and  screamed. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  said  ;  "  Philip, 
can  you  see  ?  " 


j  g  0  THE  KING  IN  YELL  O  W. 

I  looked  around  and  at  first  saw  nothing  t« 
cause  the  commotion  which  was  now  height 
ened  by  the  screams  and  flapping  of  all  the 
birds.  Then  my  eye  fell  upon  the  flat  rock 
beside  the  stream  from  which  the  girl  had 
risen.  A  gray  serpent  was  moving  slowly 
across  the  surface  of  the  bowlder,  and  the  eyes 
in  its  flat  triangular  head  sparkled  like  jet. 

"  A  couleuvre,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  It  is  harmless,  is  it  not  ? "     I  asked. 

She  pointed  to  the  black  V-shaped  figure  on 
the  neck. 

"  It  is  certain  death,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  a 
viper." 

We  watched  the  reptile  moving  slowly  over 
the  smooth  rock  to  where  the  sunlight  fell  in 
a  broad  warm  patch. 

I  started  forward  to  examine  it,  but  she 
clung  to  my  arm  crying,  "  Don't,  Philip,  I  am 
afraid." 

"  For  me  ? " 

"  For  you,  Philip, — I  love  you." 

Then  I  took  her  in  my  arms  and  kissed  her 
on  the  lips,  but  all  I  could  say  was  :  "  Jeanne, 
Jeanne,  Jeanne."  And  as  she  lay  trembling 
on  my  breast,  something  struck  my  foot  in  the 
grass  below,  but  I  did  not  heed  it.  Then 
again  something  struck  my  ankle,  and  a  sharp 
pain  shot  through  me.  I  looked  into  the  sweet 
face  of  Jeanne  d'Ys  and  kissed  her,  and  with 
all  my  strength  lifted  her  in  my  arms  and 
flung  her  from  me.  Then  bending,  I  tore  the 
viper  from  my  ankle  and  set  my  heel  upon  its 
head.  I  remember  feeling  weak  and  numb, — 
I  remember  falling  to  the  ground.  Through 
my  slowly  glazing  eyes  I  saw  Jeanne's  white 
face  bending  close  to  mine,  and  when  the 
light  in  my  eyes  went  out  I  still  felt  her  arms 


THE  DEMOISELLE  D'YS.  jr  j 

about  my  neck,  and  her  soft  cheek  against  my 
drawn  lips. 

•  •  •  •  • 

When  I  opened  my  eyes,  I  looked  around  in 
terror.  Jeanne  was  gone.  I  saw  the  stream 
and  the  flat  rock  ;  I  saw  the  crushed  viper  in 
the  grass  beside  me,  but  the  hawks  and  blocs 
had  disappeared,  I  sprang  to  my  feet.  The 
garden,  the  fruit  trees,  the  drawbridge  and  the 
walled  court  were  gone.  I  stared  stupidly  at 
a  heap  of  crumbling  ruins,  ivy-covered  and 
gray,  through  which  great  trees  had  pushed 
their  way.  I  crept  forward,  dragging  my 
numbed  foot,  and  as  I  moved,  a  falcon  sailed 
from  the  tree-tops  among  the  ruins,  and  soar 
ing,  mounting  in  narrowing  circles,  faded  and 
vanished  in  the  clouds  above. 

"  Jeanne,  Jeanne,"  I  rried,  but  my  voice 
died  on  my  lips,  and  I  fell  on  my  knee?  among 
the  weeds.  And  as  God  willed  it,  I,  not 
knowing,  had  fallen  kneeling  before  a  crum 
bling  shrine  carved  in  stone  for  our  Mother  of 
Sorrows.  I  saw  the  sad  face  of  the  Virgin 
wrought  in  the  cold  stone.  I  saw  the  cross 
and  thorns  at  her  feet,  and  beneath  it  I  read  : 

"PRAY    FOR    THE    SOUL    OF    THE 

DEMOISELLE  JEANNE  D'Ys, 
WHO  DIED 

IN  HER  YOUTH  FOR  LOVE  OF 

PHILIP,  A  STRANGER. 
A.D.  1573." 

But  upon  the  icy  slab  lay  a  woman's  glove 
still  warm  and  fragrant. 


THE  PROPHETS'    PARADISE 

"If  but  the  Vine  and  Love  Abjuring  Band 
Are  in  the  Prophets'  Paradise  to  stand, 
Alack,  I  doubt  the  Prophets'  Paradise, 
Were  empty  as  the  hollow  of  one's  hano." 


THE  PROPHETS'  PARADISE. 


Stufcfo. 

E  smiled,  saying  :  "  Seek  her  through 
out  the  world. 

I  said,  "  Why  tell  me  of  the 
world  ?  My  world  is  here,  be 
tween  these  walls  and  the  sheet  of  glass 
above  ;  here  among  gilded  flagons  and  dull 
jewelled  arms,  tarnished  frames  and  can 
vasses,  black  chests  and  high  backed  chairs, 
quaintly  carved  and  stained  in  blue  and  gold. 

"  For  whom  do  you  wait  ?  "  he  said,  and  I 
answered,  "  When  she  comes  I  shall  know 
her/' 

On  my  hearth  a  tongue  of  flame  whispered 
secrets  to  the  whitening  ashes.  In  the  street 
below  I  heard  footsteps,  a  voice,  and  a  song. 

"  For  whom  then  do  you  wait  ?  "  he  said, 
and  I  answered,  "  I  shall  know  her." 

Footsteps,  a  voice,  and  a  song  in  the  street 
below,  and  I  knew  the  song  but  neither  the 
steps  nor  the  voice. 

"  Fool !  "  he  cried,  "  the  song  is  the  same, 
the  voice  and  steps  have  but  changed  with 
years  ! " 

On  the  hearth  a  tongue  of  flame  whispered 
above  the  whitening  ashes  :  "  Wait  no  more  ; 
they  have  passed,  the  steps  and  the  voice  in 
the  street  below." 


a^5  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

THEN  he  smiled,  saying  :  "  For  whom  do 
you  wait  ?  Seek  her  throughout  the  world  !  '* 

I  answered,  "  My  world  is  here  between  these 
walls  and  the  sheet  of  glass  above ;  here 
among  gilded  flagons  and  dull  jewelled 
arms,  tarnished  frames  and  canvasses,  black 
chests  and  high-backed  chairs,  quaintly  carved 
and  stained  in  blue  and  gold." 


THE  PROPHETS'  PARADISE. 


pbantom. 

THE  Phantom  of  the  Past  would  go  no  fur. 
ther. 

"  If  it  is  true,"  she  sighed,  "that  you  find 
in  me  a  friend,  let  us  turn  back  together, 
You  will  forget,  here,  under  the  summer  sky." 

I  held  her  close,  pleading,  caressing ;  I 
seized  her,  white  with  anger,  but  she  resisted. 

"  If  it  is  true,"  she  sighed,  "  that  you  find 
in  me  a  friend,  let  us  turn  back  together.'* 

The  Phantom  of  the  Past  would  go  no  fur 
ther. 


TH£  KING  IN  YELLOW 


Sacrifice. 

1  WENT  into  a  field  of  flowers,  whose  petals 
are  whiter  than  snow  and  whose  hearts  are 
pure  gold. 

Far  afield  a  woman  cried,  "  I  have  killed 
him  I  loved  ! "  and  from  a  jar  she  poured 
blood  upon  the  flowers  whose  petals  are 
whiter  than  snow  and  whose  hearts  are  pure 
gold. 

Far  afield  I  followed,  and  on  the  jar  I  read 
a  thousand  names,  while  from  within  the  fresh 
blood  bubbled  to  the  brim. 

"  I  have  killed  him  I  loved  ! "  she  cried. 
"  The  world's  athirst ;  now  let  it  drink  !  '* 
She  passed,  and  far  afield  I  watched  her  pour 
ing  blood  upon  the  flowers  whose  petals  are 
whiter  than  snow  and  whose  hearts  are  pure 
gold. 


THE  PROPHETS'  PARADISE. 


'59 


Besting. 

I  CAME  to  the  bridge  which  few  may  pass. 

"  Pass  ! "  cried  the  keeper,  but  I  laughed, 
saying,  "  There  is  time  ;  "  and  he  smiled  and 
shut  the  gates. 

To  the  bridge  which  few  may  pass  came 
young  an  old.  All  were  refused.  Idly  I  stood 
and  counted  them,  until,  wearied  of  their 
noise  and  lamentations,  I  came  again  to  the 
bridge  which  few  may  pass. 

Those  in  the  throng  about  the  gates  shrieked 
out,  "  He  comes  too  late  ! "  But  I  laughed 
saying,  «•  There  is  time." 

"  Pass  !  "  cried  the  keeper  as  I  entered  ;  then 
smiled  and  shut  the  gates. 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


Cbe  tTbrong. 

THERE,  where  the  throng  was  thickest  in  the 
street,  I  stood  with  Pierrot.  All  eyes  were 
turned  on  me. 

"  What  are  they  laughing  at  ? "  I  asked, 
but  he  grinned,  dusting  the  chalk  from  my 
black  cloak.  "  I  cannot  see  ;  it  must  be  some 
thing  droll,  perhaps  an  honest  thief!  " 

All  eyes  were  turned  on  me. 

"  He  has  robbed  you  of  your  purse  1  "  they 
laughed. 

"  My  purse  !  "  I  cried  ;  "  Pierrot — help  !  it 
is  a  thief  !  " 

They  laughed  :  "  He  has  robbed  you  of  your 
purse ! " 

Then  Truth  stepped  out  holding  a  mirror. 
«'  If  he  is  an  honest  thief,"  cried  Truth,  "  Pierrot 
shall  find  him  with  this  mirror  !  "  but  he  only 
grinned  dusting  the  chalk  from  my  black 
cloak. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "Truth  is  an  honest 
thief,  she  brings  you  back  your  mirror." 

All  eyes  were  turned  on  me. 

"  Arrest  Truth  !  "  I  cried,  forgetting  it  was 
not  a  mirror  but  a  purse  I  lost,  standing  with 
Pierrot,  there,  where  the  throng  was  thickest 
in  the  street. 


THE  PROPHETS'  PARADISE. 


5e0ter. 

« WAS  she  fair  ?  "  I  asked,  but  he  only 
chuckled,  listening  to  the  bells  jingling  on  his 
cap. 

"  Stabbed,"  he  tittered  ;  "think  of  the  long 
journey,  the  days  of  peril,  the  dreadful  nights  ! 
Think  how  he  wandered,  for  her  sake,  year 
after  year,  through  hostile  lands,  yearning  for 
kith  and  kin,  yearning  for  her  !  " 

"Stabbed,"  he  tittered,  listening  to  the  bells 
jingling  on  his  cap. 

"  Was  she  fair  ? "  I  asked,  but  he  only 
snarled,  muttering  to  the  bells  jingling  on  his 
cap. 

"  She  kissed  him  at  the  gate,"  he  tittered, 
«« but  in  the  hall  his  brother's  welcome  touched 
his  heart." 

"Was  she  fair?"  I  asked. 

"  Stabbed,  "  he  chuckled  ;  "  think  of  the 
long  journey,  the  days  of  peril,  the  dreadful 
nights  !  Think  how  he  wandered,  for  her 
sake,  year  after  year,  through  hostile  lands, 
yearning  for  kitn  and  kin,  yearning  for  her  ! 

"  She  kissed  him  at  the  gate,  but  in  the  hall 
his  brother's  welcome  touched  his  heart." 

"  Was  she  fair  ?  "  I  asked  ;  but  he  only 
snarled,  listening  to  the  bells  jingling  in  his 
cap. 

ii 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


Gbe  Green  TRoom. 

THE  Clown  turned  his  powdered  face  to  the 
mirror. 

"If to  be  fair  is  to  be  beautiful,"  he  said, 
"who  can  compare  with  me  in  my  white 
mask  ? " 

"  Who  can  compare  with  him  in  his  white 
mask  ?  "  I  asked  of  Death  beside  me. 

"  Who  can  compare  with  me  ?  "  said  Death, 
"  for  I  am  paler  still." 

"  You  are  very  beautiful,"  sighed  the  Clown, 
turning  his  powdered  face  from  the  mirror. 


THK  PROPHETS'  PARADISE. 


Cbe  Xove 

••  IF  it  is  true  that  you  love,"  said  Love, 
«<  then  wait  no  longer.  Give  her  these  jewels 
which  would  dishonor  her  and  so  dishonor 
you  in  loving  one  dishonored.  If  it  is  true 
that  you  love,"  said  Love,  "  then  wait  no 
longer." 

I  took  the  jewels  and  went  to  her,  but  she 
trod  upon  them,  sobbing  :  "  Teach  me  to  wait, 
—I  love  you  ! " 

«  Then  wait,  if  it  is  true,"  said  Love. 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FOUR 
WINDS. 

"  Ferme  tes  yeux  a  demi, 
Croise  tes  bras  sur  ton  sein, 
Et  de  ton  coeur  endormi 
Chasse  a  jamais  tout  dessein. 

*     J       *  *  * 

"  Je  chante  la  nature, 
Lei  e*toiles  du  soir,  les  larmes  du  matin, 
Les  couchers  de  soleil  a  1'horizon  lointain, 
Le  ciel  qui  park  au  co»ur  d'exisunc*  fatore!  " 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FOUR 
WINDS. 


HE  animal  paused  on  the  threshold,, 
interrogative,  alert,  ready  for  flight 
if  necessary.  Severn  laid  down  his 
palette,  and  held  out  a  hand  of  wel 
come.  The  cat  remained  motionless,  her 
yellow  eyes  fastened  upon  Severn. 

"  Puss,"  he  said,  in  his  low,  pleasant  voice, 
«'  come  in." 

The  tip  of  her  thin  tail  twitched  uncertainly. 

•'Come  in,"  he  said  again. 

Apparently  she  found  his  voice  reassuring, 
for  she  slowly  settled  upon  all  fours,  her  eyes 
still  fastened  upon  him,  her  tail  tucked  under 
her  gaunt  flanks. 

He  rose  from  his  easel  smiling.  She  eyed 
him  quietly,  and  when  he  walked  toward  her 
she  watched  him  bend  above  her  without  a 
wince  ;  her  eyes  followed  his  hand  until  it 
touched  her  head.  Then  she  uttered  a  ragged 
mew. 

It  had  long  been  Severn's  custom  to  eon- 
verse  with  animals,  probably  because  he  lived 
so  much  alone  ;  and  now  he  said  "What's 
the  matter,  puss  ?  " 

Her  timid  eyes  sought  his. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said  gently,  "  you  shall 
have  it  at  once." 

Then  moving  quietly  about  he  busied  him 
self  with  the  duties  of  a  host,  rinsed  a  saucer, 


1 68  THE  KIN&  IX  YELLOW. 

filled  it  with  the  rest  of  the  milk  from  the 
bottle  on  the  window-sill,  and  kneeling  down, 
crumbled  a  roll  into  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 

The  creature  rose  and  crept  toward  the 
saucer. 

With  the  handle  of  a  palette  knife  he  stirred 
the  crumbs  and  milk  together  and  stepped 
back  as  she  thrust  her  nose  into  the  mess. 
He  watched  her  in  silence.  From  time  to 
time  the  saucer  klinked  upon  the  tiled  floor  as 
she  reached  for  a  morsel  on  the  rim  ;  and  at 
last  the  bread  was  all  gone,  and  her  purple 
tongue  travelled  over  every  unlicked  spot 
until  the  saucer  shone  like  polished  marble. 
Then  she  sat  up,  and  coolly  turning  her  back 
to  him,  began  her  ablutions. 

"  Keep  it  up,"  said  Severn  much  interested, 
"  you  need  it." 

She  flattened  one  ear  but  neither  turned  nor 
interrupted  her  toilet.  As  the  grime  was 
slowly  removed  Severn  observed  that  nature 
had  intended  her  for  a  white  cat.  Her  fur 
had  disappeared  in  patches,  from  disease  or 
'the  chances  of  war,  her  tail  was  bony  and  her 
spine  sharp.  But  what  charms  she  had  were 
'becoming  apparent  under  vigorous  licking, 
and  he  waited  until  she  had  finished  before 
re-opening  the  conversation.  When  at  last 
she  closed  her  eyes  and  folded  her  forepaws 
under  her  breast,  he  began  again  very  gently  : 
"Puss,  tell  me  your  troubles." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  broke  into  a 
' harsh  rumbling  which  he  recognized  as  an 
.attempt  to  purr.  He  bent  over  to  rub  her 
-cheek  and  she  mewed  again,  an  amiable  in 
quiring  little  mew,  to  which  he  replied,  "Cer 
tainly,  you  are  greatly  improved,  and  when  you 
recover  your  plumage  you  will  be  a  gorgeous 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FOUR  WINDS.      J^Q 

bird."  Much  flattered  she  stood  up  and 
inarched  around  and  around  his  legs,  push 
ing  her  head  between  them  and  making 
pleased  remarks,  to  which  he  responded  with 
grave  politeness. 

"  Now  what  sent  you  here,"  he  said,  "here 
into  the  Street  of  the  Four  Winds,  and  up 
•five  flights  to  the  very  door  where  you  would 
be  welcome  ?  What  was  it  that  prevented 
your  meditated  flight  when  I  turned  from  my 
•canvas  to  encounter  your  yellow  eyes  ?  Are 
you  a  Latin  Quarter  cat  as  I  am  a  Latin 
Quarter  man  ?  And  why  do  you  wear  a  rose- 
colored  flowered  garter  buckled  about  your 
neck  ?  The  cat  had  climbed  into  his  lap  and 
now  sat  purring  as  he  passed  his  hand  over 
her  thin  coat. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  continued  in  lazy  sooth 
ing  tones,  harmonizing  with  her  purring, 
"  if  I  seem  indelicate,  but  I  cannot  help 
musing  on  this  rose-colored  garter,  flowered 
so  quaintly  and  fastened  with  a  silver  clasp. 
For  the  clasp  is  silver  ;  I  can  see  the  mint 
mark  on  the  edge,  as  is  prescribed  by  the 
law  of  the  French  Republic.  Now,  why  is 
this  garter  woven  of  rose  silk  and  deli 
cately  embroidered, — why  is  this  silken  gar 
ter  with  its  silver  clasp  about  your  famished 
throat  ?  Am  I  indiscreet  when  I  inquire  if 
its  owner  is  your  owner  ?  Is  she  some  aged 
dame  living  in  memory  of  youthful  vanities, 
fond,  doting  on  you,  decorating  you  with  her 
intimate  personal  attire  ?  The  circumference 
of  the  garter  would  suggest  this,  for  your 
neck  is  thin,  and  the  garter  fits  you.  But  then 
again  I  notice — I  notice  most  things — that 
the  garter  is  capable  of  being  much  enlarged. 
These  small  silver-rimmed  eyelets,  of  which  I 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

count  five,  are  proof  of  that.  And  now  I 
observe  that  the  fifth  eyelet  is  worn  out,  as 
though  the  tongue  of  the  clasp  were  accus 
tomed  to  lie  there.  That  seems  to  argue  a 
well-rounded  form." 

The  cat  curled  her  toes  in  contentment. 
The  street  was  very  still  outside. 

He  murmured  on  :  "Why  should  your  mis 
tress  decorate  you  with  an  article  most  neces 
sary  to  her  at  all  times  ?  Anyway,  at  most 
times.  How  did  she  come  to  slip  this  bit  of 
silk  and  silver  about  your  neck  ?  Was  it  the 
caprice  of  a  moment, — when  you,  before  you 
had  lost  your  pristine  plumpness,  marched 
singing  into  her  bedroom  to  bid  her  good- 
morning  ?  Of  course,  and  she  sat  up  among 
the  pillows,  her  coiled  hair  tumbling  to  her 
shoulders,  as  you  sprang  upon  the  bed  pur 
ring :  'Good-day,  my  lady.'  Oh,  it  is  very 
easy  to  understand,"  he  yawned,  resting  his 
head  on  the  back  of  the  chair.  The  cat  still 
purred,  tightening  and  relaxing  her  padded 
claws  over  his  knee. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  all  about  her,  cat  ?  She 
is  very  beautiful — your  mistress,"  he  mur 
mured  drowsily,  "  and  her  hair  is  heavy  as 
burnished  gold."  "  I  could  paint  her, — not 
on  canvas — for  I  should  need  shades  and 
tones  and  hues  and  dyes  more  splendid  than 
the  iris  of  a  splendid  rainbow.  I  could  only 
paint  her  with  closed  eyes,  for  in  dreams  alone 
can  such  colors  as  I  need  be  found.  For 
her  eyes,  I  must  have  azure  from  skies  un 
troubled  by  a  cloud — the  skies  of  dreamland. 
For  her  lips,  roses  from  the  palaces  of  slum- 
berland,  and  for  her  brow,  snow-drifts  from 
mountains  which  tower  in  fantastic  pinnacles 
to  the  moons  ; — oh,  much  higher  than  our 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FOUR  WINDS,     j^I 

moon  here, — the  crystal  moons  of  dreamland. 
She  is — very — beautiful,  your  mistress." 

The  words  died  on  his  lips  and  his  eyelids 
drooped. 

The  cat  too  was  asleep,  her  cheek  turned 
up  upon  her  wasted  flank,  her  paws  relaxed 
and  limp. 


THE  KING  IN 


II. 


is  fortunate,"  said  Severn,  sitting 
up  and  stretching,  "  that  we  have 
tided  over  the  dinner  hour,  for  I 
have  nothing  to  offer  you  for 
supper  but  what  may  be  purchased  with  one 
silver  franc." 

The  cat  on  his  knee  rose,  arched  her  back, 
yawned,  and  looked  up  at  him. 

"  What  shall  it  be  ?  A  roast  chicken  with 
salad?  No?  Possibly  you  prefer  beef? 
Of  course, — and  I  shall  try  an  egg  and  some 
white  bread.  Now  for  the  wines.  Milk  for 
you  ?  Good.  I  shall  take  a  little  water,  fresh 
from  the  wood,"  with  a  motion  toward  the 
bucket  in  the  sink. 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  left  the  room.  The 
cat  followed  to  the  door,  and  after  he  had 
closed  it  behind  him,  she  settled  down,  smell 
ing  at  the  cracks,  and  cocking  one  ear  at 
every  creak  from  the  crazy  old  building. 

The  door  below  opened  and  shut.  The  cat 
looked  serious,  for  a  moment  doubtful,  and 
her  ears  flattened  in  nervous  expectation. 
Presently,  she  rose  with  a  jerk  of  her  tail  and 
started  on  a  noiseless  tour  of  the  studio.  She 
sneezed  at  a  pot  of  turpentine,  hastily  re 
treating  to  the  table,  which  she  presently 
mounted,  and  having  satisfied  her  curiosity 
concerning  a  roll  of  red  modelling  wax,  re- 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FOUR  WINDS,    j^ 

turned  to  the  door  and  sat  down  with  her  eyes 
on  the  crack  over  the  threshold.  Then  she 
lifted  her  voice  in  a  thin  plaint. 

When  Severn  returned  he  looked  grave,  but 
the  cat,  joyous  and  demonstrative,  marched 
around  him,  rubbing  her  gaunt  body  against 
his  legs,  driving  her  head  enthusiastically  into 
his  hand,  and  purring  until  her  voice  mounted 
to  a  squeal. 

He  placed  a  bit  of  meat,  wrapped  in  brown 
paper,  upon  the  table,  and  with  a  penknife  cut 
it  into  shreds.  The  milk  he  took  from  a  bottle 
which  had  served  for  medicine,  and  poured  it 
into  the  saucer  on  the  hearth. 

The  cat  crouched  before  it,  purring  and 
lapping  at  the  same  time. 

He  cooked  his  egg  and  ate  it  with  a  slice  of 
bread,  watching  her  busy  with  the  shredded 
meat,  and  when  he  had  finished,  and  had 
filled  and  emptied  a  cup  of  water  from  the 
bucket  in  the  sink,  he  sat  down,  taking  her 
into  his  lap,  where  she  at  once  curled  up  and 
began  her  toilet.  He  began  to  speak  again, 
touching  her  caressingly  at  times  by  way  of 
emphasis. 

"  Cat,  I  have  found  out  where  your  mistress 
lives.  It  is  not  very  far  away  ; — it  is  here, 
under  this  same  leaky  roof,  but  in  the  north 
wing  which  I  had  supposed  was  uninhabited. 
My  janitor  tells  me  this.  By  chance,  he  is 
almost  sober  this  evening.  The  butcher  on 
the  rue  de  Seine,  where  I  bought  your  meat, 
knows  you,  and  old  Cabane  the  baker  iden 
tified  you  with  needless  sarcasm.  They  tell 
me  hard  tales  of  your  mistress  which  I  shall 
not  believe.  They  say  she  is  idle  and  vain 
and  pleasure-loving;  they  say  she  is  hare 
brained  and  reckless.  The  little  sculptor  on 


174 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


the  ground  floor,  who  was  buying  rolls  from 
old  Cabane,  spoke  to  me  to-night  for  the  first 
time,  although  we  have  always  bowed  to  each 
other.  He  said  she  was  very  good  and  very 
beautiful.  He  has  only  seen  her  once,  and  does 
not  know  her  name.  I  thanked  him  ; — I  don't 
know  why  I  thanked  him  so  warmly.  Cabane 
said,  "Into  this  cursed  Street  of  the  Four 
Winds,  the  four  winds  blow  all  things  evil." 
The  sculptor  looked  confused,  but  when  he 
went  out  with  his  rolls,  he  said  to  me,  "  I  am 
sure,  Monsieur,  that  she  is  as  good  as  she  is 
beautiful." 

The  cat  had  finished  her  toilet  and  now, 
springing  softly  to  the  floor,  went  to  the  door 
and  sniffed.  He  knelt  beside  her,  and  unclasp 
ing  the  garter  held  it  for  a  moment  in  his 
hands.  After  a  while  he  said:  "There  is  a 
name  engraved  upon  the  silver  clasp  beneath 
the  buckle.  It  is  a  pretty  name,  Sylvia  Elven. 
Sylvia  is  a  woman's  name,  Elven  is  the  name 
of  a  town.  In  Paris,  in  this  quarter,  above 
all,  in  this  Street  of  the  Four  Winds,  names 
are  worn  and  put  away  as  the  fashions  change 
with  the  seasons.  I  know  the  little  town  of 
Elven,  for  there  I  met  Fate  face  to  face  and 
Fate  was  unkind.  But  do  you  know  that  in 
Elven  Fate  had  another  name,  and  that  name 
was  Sylvia  ?  " 

He  replaced  the  garter  and  stood  up  looking 
down  at  the  cat  crouched  before  the  closed 
door. 

••  The  name  of  Elven  has  a  charm  for  me. 
It  tells  me  of  meadows  and  clear  rivers.  The 
name  of  Sylvia  troubles  me  like  perfume  from 
dead  flowers." 

The  cat  mewed. 

"  Yes,  yes/'  he  said  soothingly,  "  I  will  Ukt 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FOUR  WINDS.      175 

you  back.  Your  Sylvia  is  not  my  Sylvia  ;  the 
world  is  wide  and  Elven  is  not  unknown.  Yet 
in  the  darkness  and  filth  of  poorer  Paris,  in 
the  sad  shadows  of  this  ancient  house,  these 
names  are  very  pleasant  to  me." 

He  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  strode  through 
the  silent  corridors  to  the  stairs.  Down  five 
flights  and  into  the  moonlit  court,  past  the  lit 
tle  sculptor's  den,  and  then  again  in  at  the 
gate  of  the  north  wing  and  up  the  worm-eaten 
stairs  he  passed,  until  he  came  to  a  closed 
door.  When  he  had  stood  knocking  for  a 
long  time,  something  moved  behind  the  door; 
it  opened  and  he  went  in.  The  room  was 
dark.  As  he  crossed  the  threshold,  the  cat 
sprang  from  his  arms  into  the  shadows.  He 
listened  but  heard  nothing.  The  silence  was 
oppressive  and  he  struck  a  match.  At  his 
elbow  stood  a  table  and  on  the  table  a  candle 
in  a  gilded  candlestick.  This  he  lighted,  then 
looked  around.  The  chamber  was  vast,  the 
hangings  heavy  with  emb/oidery.  Over  the 
fireplace  towered  a  carved  mantel,  gray  with 
the  ashes  of  dead  fires.  In  a  recess  by  the 
deep-set  windows  stood  a  bed,  from  which  the 
bed-clothes,  soft  and  fine  as  lace,  trailed  to 
the  polished  floor.  He  lifted  the  candle  above 
his  head.  A  handkerchief  lay  at  his  feet.  It 
was  Jaintly  perfumed.  He  turned  toward  the 
windows.  In  front  of  them  was  a  canapg  and 
over  it  were  flung,  pell-mell,  a  gown  of  silk,  a 
heap  of  lace-like  garments,  white  and  delicate 
as  spiders'  meshes,  long,  crumpled  gloves,  and, 
on  the  floor  beneath,  the  stockings,  the  little 
pointed  shoes,  and  one  garter  of  rosy  silk, 
quaintly  flowered  and  fitted  with  a  silver 
clasp.  Wondering,  he  stepped  forwarded  and 
drew  the  heavy  curtains  from  the  bed.  For  a 


jyg  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

moment  the  candle  flared  in  his  hand ;  then 
his  eyes  met  two  other  eyes,  wide  open,  smil 
ing,  and  the  candle  flame  flashed  over  hair 
heavy  as  gold. 

She  was  pale,  but  not  as  white  as  he  ;  her 
eyes  were  untroubled  as  a  child's  ;  but  he 
stared,  trembling  from  head  to  foot  while  the 
candle  flickered  in  his  hand. 

At  last  he  whispered  :  "  Sylvia,  it  is  I." 

Again  he  said,  «•  It  is  I." 

Then,  knowing  that  she  was  dead,  he  kissed 
her  on  the  mouth.  And  through  the  long 
watches  of  the  night,  the  cat  purred  on  his 
knee,  tightening  and  relaxing  her  padded 
claws,  until  the  sky  paled  above  the  Street  of 
the  Four  Winds. 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL. 

M  Be  of  Good  Cheer,  the  Sullen  Month  will  die, 
And  a  young  Moon  requite  us  by  and  by : 
Look  how  the  Old  one,  meagre,  bent,  and  waa 
With  age  and  Fast,  is  fainting  from  the  sky.'* 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL. 
i. 

HE  room  was  already  dark.  The 
high  roofs  opposite  cut  off  what 
little  remained  of  the  December 
daylight.  The  girl  drew  her  chair 
nearer  the  window  and  choosing  a  large 
needle,  threaded  it,  knotting  the  thread  over 
her  ringers.  Then  she  smoothed  the  baby 
garment  across  her  knees,  and  bending,  bit 
off  the  thread  and  drew  the  smaller  needle 
from  where  it  rested  in  the  hem.  When  she 
had  brushed  away  the  stray  threads  and  bits 
of  lace,  she  laid  it  again  over  her  knees  caress 
ingly.  Then  she  slipped  the  threaded  needle 
from  her  corsage  and  passed  it  through  a  but 
ton,  but  as  the  button  spun  down  the  thread, 
her  hand  faltered,  the  thread  snapped,  and 
the  button  rolled  across  the  floor.  She  raised 
her  head.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  strip  of 
waning  light  above  the  chimneys.  From 
somewhere  in  the  city  came  sounds  like  the 
distant  beating  of  drums,  and  beyond,  far  be 
yond,  a  vague  muttering,  now  growing,  swell 
ing,  rumbling  in  the  distance  like  the  pound 
ing  of  surf  upon  the  rocks,  now  like  the  surf 
again,  receding,  growling,  menacing.  The 
cold  had  become  intense,  a  bitter  piercing 
cold  which  strained  and  snapped  at  joist  and 
beam  and  turned  the  slush  of  yesterday  to 
flint.  From  the  street  below  every  sound 
broke  sharp  and  metallic — the  clatter  of  sabots, 
the  rattle  of  shutters  or  the  rare  sound  of  a 

170 


j8o  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

human  voice.  The  air  was  heavy,  weighted 
with  the  black  cold  as  with  a  pall.  To  breathe 
was  painful,  to  move  an  effort. 

In  the  desolate  sky  there  was  something  that 
wearied,  in  the  brooding  clouds,  something 
that  saddened.  It  penetrated  the  freezing  city 
cut  by  the  freezing  river,  the  splendid  city 
with  its  towers  and  domes,  its  quays  and 
bridges  and  its  thousand  spires.  It  entered 
the  squares,  it  seized  the  avenues  and  the  pal 
aces,  stole  across  bridges  and  crept  among 
the  narrow  streets  of  the  Latin  Quarter,  gray 
under  the  gray  of  the  December  sky.  Sad 
ness,  utter  sadness.  A  fine  icy  sleet  was  fall 
ing,  powdering  the  pavement  with  a  tiny 
crystalline  dust.  It  sifted  against  the  window- 
panes  and  drifted  in  heaps  along  the  sill. 
The  light  at  the  window  had  nearly  failed, 
and  the  girl  bent  low  over  her  work.  Pres 
ently  she  raised  her  head,  brushing  the  curls 
from  her  eyes. 

"Jack?" 

«•  Dearest  ?  " 

••  Don't  forget  to  clean  your  palette." 

He  said,  "all  right,"  and  picking  up  the 
palette,  sat  down  upon  the  floor  in  front  of 
the  stove.  His  head  and  shoulders  were  in 
the  shadow,  but  the  firelight  fell  across  his 
knees  and  glimmered  red  on  the  blade  of  the 
palette  knife.  Full  in  the  firelight  beside  him 
stood  a  color-box.  On  the  lid  was  carved, 


J.  TRENT. 

6cole  des  Beaux  Arts. 

1870. 


This    inscription   was    ornamented  with  an 
American  and  a  French  flag. 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL,     jgl 

The  sleet  blew  against  the  window-panes, 
covering  them  with  stars  and  diamonds,  then, 
melting  from  the  warmer  air  within,  ran 
down  and  froze  again  in  fern-like  traceries. 

A  dog  whined  and  the  patter  of  small  paws 
sounded  on  the  zinc  behind  the  stove. 

"  Jack  dear,  do  you  think  Hercules  is 
hungry  ?  " 

The  patter  of  paws  was  redoubled  behind 
the  stove. 

"  He's  whining,"  she  continued  nervously, 
"  and  if  it  isn't  because  he's  hungry  it  is  be 
cause " 

Her  voice  faltered.  Aloud  humming  filled 
the  air,  the  windows  vibrated. 

"  Oh,  Jack,"  she  cried,  "  another "  but 

her  voice  was  drowned  in  the  scream  of  a 
shell  tearing  through  the  clouds  overhead. 

"That  is  the  nearest  yet,"  she  murmured. 

"Oh,  no, "he  answered  cheerfully,  "it  prob 
ably  fell  way  over  by  Montmartre,"  and  as  she 
did  not  answer,  he  said  again  with  exagger 
ated  unconcern,  "  They  wouldn't  take  the 
trouble  to  fire  at  the  Latin  Quarter  ;  anyway 
they  haven't  a  battery  that  can  hurt  it." 

After  a  while  she  spoke  up  brightly  :  "  Jack 
dear,  when  are  you  going  to  take  me  to  see 
Monsieur  West's  statues  ?  " 

"  I  will  bet,"  he  said,  throwing  down  his 
palette  and  walking  over  to  the  window  be 
side  her,  "  that  Colette  has  been  here  to 
day." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  opening  her  eyes  very 
wide.  Then,  "  Oh,  it's  too  bad  ! — really,  men 
are  tiresome  when  they  think  they  know  every 
thing  !  And  I  warn  you  that  if  Monsieur 
West  is  vain  enough  to  imagine  that  Co 
lette " 


182 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


From  the  north  another  shell  came  whis 
tling  and  quavering  through  the  sky,  passing 
above  them  with  long-drawn  screech  which 
left  the  windows  singing. 

"That,"  he  blurted  out,  "was  too  near  for 
comfort." 

They  were  silent  for  a  while,  then  he  spoke 
again  gayly  :  "  Go  on,  Sylvia,  and  wither  poor 
West  :  "  but  she  only  sighed,  ••  Oh,  dear,  I  can 
never  seem  to  get  used  to  the  shells." 

He  sat  down  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  beside 
her. 

Her  scissors  fell  jingling  to  the  floor  ;  she 
tossed  the  unfinished  frock  after  them,  and 
putting  both  arms  about  his  neck  drew  him 
down  into  her  lap. 

"  Don't  go  out  to-night,  Jack." 

He  kissed  her  uplifted  face  ;  "  You  know  I 
must ;  don't  make  it  hard  for  me." 

"  But  when  I  hear  the  shells  and — and  know 
you  are  out  in  the  city — 

«•  But  they  all  fall  in  Montmartre — 

"  They  may  all  fall  in  the  Beaux  Arts,  you 
said  yourself  that  two  struck  the  Quai  d'Or- 
say— 

"  Mere  accident ' 

"Jack,  have  pity  on  me!  Take  me  with 
you  ! " 

"  And  who  will  there  be  to  get  dinner  ?  " 

She  rose  and  flung  herself  on  the  bed. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  get  used  to  it  and  I  know  you 
must  go,  but  I  beg  you  not  to  be  late  to  din-- 
ner.  If  you  knew  what  I  suffer  !  I — I — can 
not  help  it  and  you  must  be  patient  with  me, 
dear." 

He  said,  "  It  is  as  safe  there  as  it  is  in  our 
own  house." 

She  watched    him  fill  for  her  the  alcohol 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL,     jg^ 

lamp,  and  when  he  had  lighted  it  and  had 
taken  his  hat  to  go,  she  jumped  up  and  clung 
to  him  in  silence.  After  a  moment  he  said : 
•'  Now,  Sylvia,  remember  my  courage  is  sus 
tained  by  yours.  Come,  I  must  go  !  "  She 
did  not  move  and  he  repeated  :  "  I  must  go.'* 
Then  she  stepped  back  and  he  thought  she 
was  going  to  speak  and  waited,  but  she  only 
looked  at  him,  and,  a  little  impatiently,  he 
kissed  her  again,  saying :  "  Don't  worry, 
dearest." 

When  he  had  reached  the  last  flight  of 
stairs  on  his  way  to  the  street  a  woman  hob 
bled  out  of  the  housekeeper's  lodge  waving  a 
letter  and  calling  :  "  Monsieur  Jack  !  Mon 
sieur  Jack  !  this  was  left  by  Monsieur  Fal- 
lowby  !  " 

He  took  the  letter,  and  leaning  on  the 
threshold  of  the  lodge,  read  it  : 

•  •  DEAR  JACK, 

"  I  believe  Braith  is  dead  broke  and  I'm  sure 
Fallowby  is.  Braith  swears  he  isn't,  and  Fal- 
lowby  swears  he  is,  so  you  can  draw  your  own 
conclusions.  I've  got  a  scheme  for  a  dinner, 
and  if  it  works,  I  will  let  you  fellows  in. 
"  Yours  faithfully, 

"WEST. 

•'  P.  S. — Fallowby  has  shaken  Hartman  and 
his  gang,  thank  the  Lord  !  There  is  some 
thing  rotten  there, — or  it  may  be  he's  only  a 
miser. 

"  P.  P.  S. — I'm  more  desperately  in  love  than 
ever,  but  I'm  sure  she  does  not  care  a  straw 
lor  me." 

"  All  right,"  said  Trent,   with  a  smile,  to 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

the  concierge  ;  "  but  tell  me,  how  is  Papa 
Cottard  ?  " 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head  and  pointed 
to  the  curtained  bed  in  the  lodge. 

"  Pere  Cottard  !  "  he  cried  cheerily,  "  how 
goes  the  wound  to-day  ?  " 

He  walked  over  to  the  bed  and  drew  the 
curtains.  An  old  man  was  lying  among  the 
tumbled  sheets. 

"  Better  ?  "  smiled  Trent. 

"  Better,"  repeated  the  man  wearily  ;  and, 
after  a  pause ;  "  have  you  any  news,  Monsieur 
Jack  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  been  out  to-day.  I  will  bring 
you  any  rumor  I  may  hear,  though  goodness 
knows  I've  got  enough  of  rumors,"  he  muttered 
to  himself.  Then  aloud  :  «•  Cheer  up  ;  you're 
looking  better." 

"  And  the  sortie  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  sortie,  that's  for  this  week.  Gen 
eral  Trochu  sent  orders  last  night." 

"  It  will  be  terrible." 

"  It  will  be  sickening,"  thought  Trent  as  he 
went  out  into  the  street  and  turned  the  corner 
toward  the  rue  de  Seine  ;  slaughter,  slaughter, 
phew  !  I'm  glad  I'm  not  going." 

The  street  was  almost  deserted.  A  few 
women  muffled  in  tattered  military  capes  crept 
along  the  frozen  pavement,  and  a  wretchedly 
clad  gamin  hovered  over  the  sewer  hole  on  the 
corner  of  the  Boulevard.  A  rope  around  his 
waist  held  his  rags  together.  From  the  rope 
hung  a  rat,  still  warm  and  bleeding. 

"  There's  another  in  there,"  he  yelled  at 
Trent ;  "  I  hit  him  but  he  got  away." 

Trent  crossed  the  street  and  asked  :  "  How 
much  ?  " 

"Two  francs  for  a  quarter  of  a  fat  one; 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL,     jgij 

that's  what  they  give  at  the  St.  Germain  Mar. 
ket." 

A  violent  fit  of  coughing  interrupted  him, 
but  he  wiped  his  face  with  the  palm  of  his 
hand  and  looked  cunningly  at  Trent. 

"  Last  week  you  could  buy  a  rat  for  six 
francs,  but,"  and  here  he  swore  vilely,  "  the 
rats  have  quit  the  rue  de  Seine  and  they  kill 
them  now  over  by  the  new  hospital.  I'll  let 
you  have  this  for  seven  francs  ;  I  can  sell  it  for 
ten  in  the  Isle  St.  Louis." 

"  You  lie,"  said  Trent,  "  and  let  me  tell  you 
that  if  you  try  to  swindle  anybody  in  this 
quarter  the  people  will  make  short  work  of  you 
and  your  rats.1' 

He  stood  a  moment  eyeing  the  gamin,  who 
pretended  to  snivel.  Then  he  tossed  him  a 
franc,  laughing.  The  child  caught  it,  and 
thrusting  it  into  his  mouth  wheeled  about  to 
the  sewer  hole.  For  a  second  he  crouched, 
motionless,  alert,  his  eyes  on  the  bars  of  the 
drain,  then  leaping  forward  he  hurled  a  stone 
into  the  gutter,  and  Trent  left  him  to  finish  a 
fierce  gray  rat  that  writhed  squealing  at  the 
mouth  of  the  sewer. 

"  Suppose  Braith  should  come  to  that,"  he 
thought  ;  "  poor  little  chap  ;  "  and  hurrying, 
he  turned  in  the  dirty  passage  des  Beaux  Arts 
and  entered  the  third  house  to  the  left. 

"  Monsieur  is  at  home,"  quavered  the  old 
concierge. 

Home  ?  A  garret  absolutely  bare,  save  for 
the  iron  bedstead  in  the  corner  and  the  iron 
basin  and  pitcher  on  the  floor. 

West  appeared  at  the  door,  winking  with 
much  mystery  and  motioned  Trent  to  enter. 
Braith,  who  was  painting  in  bed  to  keep  warm, 
looked  up,  laughed,  and  shook  hands. 


jg£  fffE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

«'  Any  news  ?  " 

The  perfunctory  question  was  answered  as 
usual  by  :  "  nothing  but  the  cannon." 

Trent  sat  down  on  the  bed. 

•«  Where  on  earth  did  you  get  that  ?  "  he 
demanded,  pointing  to  a  half-finished  chicken 
nestling  in  a  wash-basin. 

West  grinned. 

"  Are  you  millionaires,  you  two  ?  Out  with 
it." 

Braith,  looking  a  little  ashamed,  began, 
«'  Oh,  it's  one  of  West's  exploits,"  but  was  cut 
short  by  West,  who  said  he  would  tell  the 
story  himself. 

"  You  see,  before  the  siege,  I  had  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  a  "  type  "  here,  a  fat  banker, 
German-American  variety.  You  know  the 
species,  I  see.  Well,  of  course  I  forgot  to  pre 
sent  the  letter,  but  this  morning,  judging  it  to 
be  a  favorable  opportunity,  I  called  on  him. 

The  villain  lives  in  comfort ; — fires,  my  boy  ! 
— fires  in  the  anterooms  !  The  Buttons  finally 
condescends  to  carry  my  letter  and  card  up, 
leaving  me  standing  in  the  hallway,  which  I  did 
not  like,  so  I  entered  the  first  room  I  saw  and 
nearly  fainted  at  the  sight  of  a  banquet  on  a 
table  by  the  fire.  Down  comes  Buttons,  very 
insolent.  No,  oh,  no,  his  master  <  is  not  at 
home,  and  in  fact  is  too  busy  to  receive  letters 
of  introduction  just  now  ;  the  siege,  and  many 
business  difficulties ' 

"  I  deliver  a  kick  to  Buttons,  pick  up  this 
chicken  from  the  table,  toss  my  card  on  to  the 
empty  plate,  and  addressing  Buttons  as  a 
species  of  Prussian  pig,  march  out  with  the 
honors  of  war." 

Trent  shook  his  head. 

"I  forgot  to  say  that  Hartman  often  dines 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL,     jgf 

there,  and  I  draw  my  own  conclusions,"  con 
tinued  West.  "  Now  about  this  chicken,  half 
of  it  is  for  Braith  and  myself  and  half  for  Co 
lette,  but  of  course  you  will  help  me  eat  my 
part  because  I'm  not  hungry." 

"  Neither  am  I,"  began  Braith,  but  Trent, 
with  a  smile  at  the  pinched  faces  before  him, 
shook  his  head  saying,  "  What  nonsense  !  You 
know  I'm  never  hungry  !  " 

W'est  hesitated,  reddened,  and  then  slicing 
off  Braith 's  portion,  but  not  eating  any  him 
self,  said,  good-night,  and  hurried  away  to 
number  470  rue  Serpente,  where  lived  a  pretty 
girl  named  Colette,  orphan  after  Sedan,  and 
Heaven  alone  knew  where  she  got  the  roses 
in  her  cheeks,  for  the  siege  came  hard  on  the 
poor. 

"  That  chicken  will  delight  her,  but  I  really 
believe  she's  in  love  with  West,"  said  Trent. 
Then  walking  over  to  the  bed  :  "  See  here,  old 
man,  no  dodging,  you  know,  how  much  have 
you  left  ?  " 

The  other  hesitated  and  flushed. 

"  Come,  old  chap,"  insisted  Trent. 

Braith  drew  a  purse  from  beneath  his  bolster 
and  handed  it  to  his  friend  with  a  simplicity 
that  touched  him. 

"  Seven  sous,"  he  counted  ;  "  you  make  me 
tired  !  Why  on  earth  don't  you  come  to  me  ? 
I  take  it  d — — d  ill,  Braith  !  How  many  times 
must  I  go  over  the  same  thing  and  explain  to 
you  that  because  I  have  money  it  is  my  duty 
to  share  it,  and  your  duty  and  the  duty  of  every 
American  to  share  it  with  me  ?  You  can't 
get  a  cent,  the  city's  blockaded,  and  the 
American  Minister  has  his  hands  full  with  all 
the  German  riff-raff  and  deuce  knows  what  ! 
Why  don't  you  act  sensibly  ? " 


jg8  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

« I — I  will,  Trent,  but  it's  an  obligation  that 
perhaps  I  can  never  even  in  part  repay,  I'm 
poor  and " 

"  Of  course  you'll  pay  me  !  If  I  were  a 
usurer  I  would  take  your  talent  for  security. 
When  you  are  rich  and  famous — 

"  Don't,  Trent — 

"All  right,  only  no  more  monkey  business.* 

He  slipped  a  dozen  gold  pieces  into  the 
purse  and  tucking  it  again  under  the  mattress 
smiled  at  Braith. 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"Sixteen." 

Trent  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  his  friend's 
shoulder.  "  I'm  twenty-two,  and  I  have  the 
rights  of  a  grandfather  as  far  as  you  are  con 
cerned.  You'll  do  as  I  say  until  you're  twenty- 
one." 

"The  siege  will  be  over  then  I  hope,"  said 
Braith  trying  to  laugh,  but  the  prayer  in  their 
hearts  :  "  How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  !  "  was 
answered  by  the  swift  scream  of  a  shell  soar 
ing  among  the  storm-clouds  of  that  December 
night. 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL, 


II. 

EST,  standing  in  the  doorway  of  a 
house  in  the  rue  Serpente,  was 
speaking  angrily.  He  said  he  didn't 
care  whether  Hartman  liked  it  or 
not ;  he  was  telling  him,  not  arguing  with 
him. 

"  You  call  yourself  an  American  ! "  he 
sneered  ;  "  Berlin  and  hell  are  full  of  that, 
kind  of  American.  You  come  loafing  about 
Colette  with  your  pockets  stuffed  with  white 
bread  and  beef,  and  a  bottle  of  wine  at  thirty 
francs  and  you  can't  really  afford  to  give  a 
dollar  to  the  American  Ambulance  and 
Public  Assistance,  which  Braith  does,  and 
he's  half  starved  !  " 

Hartman  retreated  to  the  curbstone,  but 
West  followed  him,  his  face  like  a  thunder 
cloud.  "  Don't  you  dare  to  call  yourself  a 
countryman  of  mine,"  he  growled, — "  no, — nor 
an  artist  either  !  Artists  don't  worm  them 
selves  into  the  service  of  the  Public  Defense 
where  they  do  nothing  but  feed  like  rats  on 
the  people's  food  !  And  I'll  tell  you  now,"  he 
continued,  dropping  his  voice,  for  Hartman 
had  started  as  though  stung,  "  you  might 
better  keep  away  from  that  Alsatian  Brasserie 
and  the  smug-faced  thieves  who  haunt  it. 
You  know  what  they  do  with  suspects  !  " 

"  Y'ou  lie,  you  hound  ! "  screamed  Hart 
man,  and  flung  the  bottle  in  his  hand  straight 
at  West's  face.  West  had  him  by  the  throat 


I9o 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


in  a  second,  and  forcing  him  against  the  dead 
wall  shook  him  wickedly. 

"  Now  you  listen  to  me,"  he  muttered, 
through  his  clenched  teeth.  "  You  are 
already  a  suspect  and — I  swear — I  believe  you 
are  a  paid  spy  !  It  isn't  my  business  to  detect 
such  vermin,  and  I  don't  intend  to  denounce 
you,  but  understand  this  !  Colette  don't  like 
you  and  I  can't  stand  you,  and  if  I  catch  you 
in  this  street  again  I'll  make  it  somewhat 
unpleasant.  Get  out,  you  sleek  Prussian  ! " 

Hartman  had  managed  to  drag  a  knife 
from  his  pocket  but  West  tore  it  from  him 
and  hurled  him  into  the  gutter.  A  gamin 
who  had  seen  this,  burst  into  a  peal  of 
laughter,  which  rattled  harshly  in  the  silent 
street.  Then  everywhere  windows  were  raised 
and  rows  of  haggard  faces  appeared  demand 
ing  to  know  why  people  should  laugh  in  the 
starving  city. 

"  Is  it  a  victory  ?  "  murmured  one. 

"Look  at  that,"  cried  West  as  Hartman 
picked  himself  up  from  the  pavement,  "  look  ! 
you  miser  !  look  at  those  faces  !  "  But  Hart 
man  gave  him  a  look  which  he  never  forgot, 
and  walked  away  without  a  word.  Trent, 
who  suddenly  appeared  at  the  corner,  glanced 
curiously  at  West,  who  merely  nodded  toward 
his  door  saying,  "  come  in  ;  Fallowby's  up 
stairs." 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  that  knife  ?  " 
demanded  Fallowby,  as  he  and  Trent  entered 
the  studio. 

West  looked  at  his  wounded  hand  which 
still  clutched  the  knife,  but  saying  :  "  cut  my 
self  by  accident,"  tossed  it  into  a  corner  and 
washed  the  blood  from  his  fingers. 

Fallowby,  fat  and  lazy,  watched  him  with- 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL.     IgI 

out  comment,  but  Trent,  half  divining  how 
things  had  turned,  walked  over  to  Fallowby 
smiling. 

"  I've  a  bone  to  pick  with  you  ! "  he  said. 

"  Where  is  it  ?  I'm  hungry,"  replied 
Fallowby  with  affected  eagerness,  but  Trent, 
frowning,  told  him  to  listen. 

"  How  much  did  I  advance  you  a  week 
ago  ?  " 

"  Three  hundred  and  eighty  francs,"  replied 
the  other,  with  a  squirm  of  contrition. 

"  Where  is  it  ?  " 

Fallowby  began  a  series  of  intricate  expla 
nations  which  were  soon  cut  short  by  Trent. 

"  I  know  ;  you  blew  it  in  ; — you  always 
blow  it  in.  I  don't  care  a  rap  what  you  did 
before  the  siege  :  I  know  you  are  rich  and 
have  a  right  to  dispose  of  your  money  as  you 
wish  to,  and  I  also  know  that,  generally  speak 
ing,  it  is  none  of  my  business.  But  now  it  is 
my  business  as  I  have  to  supply  the  funds 
until  you  get  some  more,  which  you  won't 
until  the  siege  is  ended  one  way  or  another.  I 
wish  to  share  what  I  have,  but  I  won't  see 
it  thrown  out  of  the  window.  Oh,  yes,  of 
course  I  Know  you  will  reimburse  me,  but  that 
isn't  the  question;  and,  anyway,  it's  the  opinion 
of  your  friends,  old  man,  that  you  will  not  be 
worse  off  for  a  little  abstinence  from  fleshly 
pleasures.  You  are  positively  a  freak  in  this 
famine-cursed  city  of  skeletons  !  " 

"  I  am  rather  stout,"  he  admitted. 

"  Is  it  true  you  are  out  of  money  ?  ** 
demanded  Trent. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  sighed  the  other. 

"That  roast  sucking  pig  on  the  rue  St 
Honor^, — is  it  there  yet  ?  "  continued  Trent. 

"  Wh-at  ?  "   stammered  the  feeble  one. 


j^2  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

"  Ah — I  thought  so  !  I  caught  you  in  ecstasy 
before  that  sucking  pig  at  least  a  dozen 
times  !  " 

Then  laughing,  he  presented  Fallowby  with 
a  roll  of  twenty  franc  pieces  saying  :  "  If 
these  go  for  luxuries  you  must  live  on  your 
own  flesh,"  and  went  over  to  aid  West,  who  sat 
beside  the  wash-basin  binding  up  his  hand. 

West  suffered  him  to  tie  the  knot,  and  then 
said:  "You  remember,  yesterday,  when  I 
left  you  and  Braith  to  take  the  chicken  to 
Colette." 

"Chicken  !  Good  Heavens  !  "  moaned  Fal 
lowby. 

"  Chicken,"  repeated  West,  enjoying  Fal 
lowby 's  grief; — "I — that  is,  I  must  explain 
that  things  are  changed.  Colette  and  I — are 
to  be  married — 

"  What — what  about  the  chicken  ?  "  groan 
ed  Fallowby. 

"Shut  up!"  laughed  Trent,  and  slipping 
his  arm  through  West's,  walked  to  the  stair 
way. 

"The  poor  IKiie  thing,"  said  West,  "just 
think,  not  a  splinter  of  firewood  for  a  week 
and  wouldn't  tell  me  because  she  thought  I 
needed  it  for  my  clay  figure.  Whew  !  When 
I  heard  it  I  smashed  that  smirking  clay 
nymph  to  pieces,  and  the  rest  can  freeze  and 
be  hanged  !  "  After  a  moment  he  added 
timidly  : — "  Won't  you  call  on  your  way  down 
and  say  bon  soir  ?  It's  No.  17." 

"Yes,"  said  Trent,  and  he  went  out  softly 
closing  the  door  behind. 

He  stopped  on  the  third  landing,  lighted  a 
match,  scanned  the  numbers  over  the  row  of 
dingy  doors,  and  knocked  at  No.  17. 

"C'est  toi  Georges  ? "    The  door  opened. 


THE  STREET  OP  THE  FIRST  SHELL. 


"93. 


•«  Oh,  pardon,  Monsieur  Jack,"  I  thought  it 
was  Monsieur  West ;  then  blushing  furiously; 
«'  oh,  I  see  you  have  heard  !  Oh,  thank  you  so 
much  for  your  wishes,  and  I'm  sure  we  love 
each  other  very  much, — and  I'm  dying  to  see 
Sylvia  and  tell  her  and " 

"  And  what,"  laughed  Trent. 

"  I  am  very  happy,"  she  sighed. 

••'  He's  pure  gold,"  returned  Trent,  and  then 
gayly  :  "  I  want  you  and  George  to  come  and 
dine  with  us  to-night.  It's  a  little  treat, — you 
see  to-morrow  is  Sylvia's  fete.  She  will  be 
nineteen.  I  have  written  to  Thorn,  and  the 
Guernalecs  will  corne  with  their  cousin  Odile. 
Fallowby  has  engaged  not  to  bring  anybody 
but  himself." 

The  girl  accepted  shyly,  charging  him  with 
loads  of  loving  messages  to  Sylvia,  and  he 
said  good-night. 

He  started  up  the  street,  walking  swiftly  for 
it  was  bitter  cold,  and  cutting  across  the  rue 
de  la  Lune  he  entered  the  rue  de  Seine.  The 
early  winter  night  had  fallen,  almost  without 
warning,  but  the  sky  was  ^ar  and  myriads 
of  stars  glittered  in  the  heavens.  The  bom 
bardment  had  become  furious — a  steady  rolling 
thunder  from  the  Prussian  cannon  punctuated 
by  the  heavy  shocks  from  Mont  Vale'rien. 

The  shells  streamed  across  the  sky  leaving 
trails  like  shooting  stars,  and  now,  as  he 
turned  to  look  back,  rockets  blue  and  red 
flared  above  the  horizon  from  the  Fort  of  Issy, 
and  the  Fortress  of  the  North  flamed  like  a 
bonfire. 

"  Good  news  !  "  a  man  shouted  over  by  the 
Boulevard  St.  Germain.  As  if  by  magic  the 
streets  were  filled  with  people, — shivering, 
chattering  people  with  shrunken  eyes. 


KING  IN  YELLOW. 

"  Jacques  !  "  cried  one, — ««  The  Army  of  the 
Loire  ! " 

"  Eh  !  "  mon  vieux,  it  has  come  then  at  last ! 
I  told  thee  !  I  told  thee  !  To-morrow — to 
night — who  knows  ?  " 

"  Is  it  true  ?     Is  it  a  sortie  ?  " 

Some  one  said  :  "  Oh,  God — a  sortie — and 
my  son  ?  "  Another  cried  :  "to  the  Seine  ? 
They  say  one  can  see  the  signals  of  the  Army 
of  the  Loire  from  the  Pont  Neuf." 

There  was  a  child  standing  near  Trent  who 
kept  repeating  :  "  Mamma,  Mamma,  then  to 
morrow  we  may  eat  white  bread  ?  "  and  beside 
him,  an  old  man  swaying,  stumbling,  his  shriv 
elled  hands  crushed  to  his  breast,  muttering  as 
if  insane. 

"  Could  it  be  true  ?  Who  has  heard  the 
news  ?  The  shoemaker  on  the  rue  de  Buci 
had  it  from  a  Mobile  who  had  heard  a  Franc- 
tireur  repeat  it  to  a  captain  o*  the  National 
Guard." 

Trent  followed  the  throng  surging  through 
the  rue  de  Seine  to  the  river. 

Rocket  after  rocket  clove  the  sky,  and  now, 
from  Montmartre,  the  cannon  clanged,  and  the 
batteries  on  Montparnasse  joined  in  with  a 
crash.  The  bridge  was  packed  with  people. 

Trent  asked  :  "  Who  has  seen  the  signals 
of  the  Army  of  the  Loire  ?  " 

"  We  are  waiting,"  was  the  reply. 
He  looked  toward  the  north.  Suddenly  the 
huge  silhouette  of  the  Arc  de  Triomphe 
sprang  into  black  relief  against  the  flash  of  a 
cannon.  The  boom  of  the  gun  rolled  along 
the  quay  and  the  old  bridge  vibrated, 

Again  over  by  the  Point  du  Jour  a  flash  and 
heavy  explosion  shook  the  bridge,  and  then  the 
whole  eastern  bastion  of  the  fortifications 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL. 


'95 


blazed  and  crackled,  sending  a  red  flame  into 
the  sky. 

"  Has  any  one  seen  the  signals  yet  ?  "  he 
asked  again. 

"  We  are  waiting,"  was  the  reply. 

"Yes,  waiting,"  murmured  a  man  behind 
him,  "  waiting,  sick,  starved,  freezing,  but 
waiting.  Is  it  a  sortie  ?  They  go  gladly.  Is 
it  to  starve  ?  They  starve.  They  have  no 
time  to  think  of  surrender.  Are  they  heroes, 
- — these  Parisians  ?  answer  me,  Trent  !  " 

The  American  Ambulance  surgeon  turned 
about  and  scanned  the  parapets  of  the  bridge. 

"  Any  news,  Doctor,"  asked  Trent  mechani 
cally. 

"  News  ?  "  said  the  doctor  ;  «« I  don't  know 
any  ; — I  haven't  time  to  know  any.  What  are 
these  people  after  ?  " 

"They  say  that  the  Army  of  the  Loire  has 
signalled  Mont  Vale"rien." 

"  Poor  devils."  The  doctor  glanced  about 
him  for  an  instant,  and  then  :  "  I'm  so  harried 
and  worried  that  I  don't  know  what  to  do. 
After  the  last  sortie  we  had  the  work  of  fifty 
ambulances  on  our  poor  little  corps.  To-mor 
row  there's  another  sortie  and  I  wish  you  fel 
lows  could  come  over  to  headquarters.  We 
may  need  volunteers.  How  is  madame  ?  M 
he  added  abruptly. 

"  Well,"  replied  Trent,  "  but  she  seems  to 
grow  more  nervous  every  day.  I  ought  to  be 
with  her  now." 

"  Take  care  of  her,"  said  the  doctor,  then 
with  a  sharp  look  at  the  people  :  "  I  can't  stop 
now — good-night !  "  and  he  hurried  away  mut 
tering,  •«  poor  devils  !  " 

Trent  leaned  over  the  parapet  and  blinked 
at  the  black  river  surging  through  the  arches. 


!^5  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

Dark  objects,  carried  swiftly  on  the  breast  of 
the  current,  struck  with  a  grinding  tearing 
noise  against  the  stone  piers,  spun  around  for 
an  instant,  and  hurried  away  into  the  dark 
ness.  The  ice  from  the  Marne. 

As  he  stood  staring  into  the  water,  a  hand 
was  laid  on  his  shoulder.  "  Hello,  South- 
•tvark  !  "  he  cried,  turning  around  ;  "this  is  a 
queer  place  for  you  !  " 

"  Trent,  I  have  something  to  tell  you. 
Don't  stay  ':ere, — don't  believe  in  the  Army 
of  the  Loire  :  "  and  the  attache  of  the  Ameri 
can  Legation  slipped  his  arm  through  Trent's 
and  drew  him  toward  the  Louvre. 

"  Then  it's  another  lie  !  "  said  Trent  bitterly. 

"  Worse — we  know  at  the  Legation — I  can't 
speak  of  it.  But  that's  not  what  I  have  to  say. 
Something  happened  this  afternoon.  The  Al 
satian  Brasserie  was  visited  and  an  American 
named  Hartman  has  been  arrested.  Do  you 
know  him  ?  " 

"  I  know  a  German  who  calls  himself  an 
American  ; — his  name  is  Hartman." 

"  Well,  he  was  arrested  about  two  hours 
ago.  They  mean  to  shoot  him." 

«  What !  " 

"Of  course  we  at  the  Legation  can't  allow 
them  to  shoot  him  off-hand,  but  the  evidence 
seems  conclusive." 

"  Is  he  a  spy  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  papers  seized  in  his  rooms  are 
pretty  damning  proofs,  and  besides  he  was 
caught,  they  say,  swindling  the  Public  Food 
Committee.  He  drew  rations  for  fifty,  how, 
I  don't  know.  He  claims  to  be  an  Ameri 
can  artist  here  and  we  have  been  obliged  to 
take  notice  of  it  at  the  Legation.  It's  a  nasty 
affair." 


THE  STREET  OP  THE  FIRST  SHELL.        joy 

"To  cheat  the  people  at  such  a  time  is 
worse  than  robbing  the  poor-box,"  cried 
Trent  angrily.  "  Let  them  shoot  him  !  " 

"  He's  an  American  citizen." 

"  Yes,  oh  yes,"  said  the  other  with  bitter 
ness.  "  American  citizenship  is  a  precious 
privilege  when  every  goggle-eyed  Ger 
man "  His  anger  choked  him. 

Southwark  shook  hands  with  him  warmly. 
"  It  can't  be  helped,  we  must  own  the  carrion. 
I  am  afraid  you  may  be  called  upon  to  iden 
tify  him  as  an  American  artist,"  he  said  with 
a  ghost  of  a  smile  on  his  deep-lined  face  ;  and 
walked  away  through  the  Cours  la  Reine. 

Trent  swore  silently  for  a  moment  and  then 
drew  out  his  watch.  Seven  o'clock.  "Syl 
via  will  be  anxious,"  he  thought,  and  hurried 
back  to  the  river.  The  crowd  sti1!  huddled 
shivering  on  the  bridge,  a  sombre  pitiful 
congregation,  peering  out  into  the  night  for 
the  signals  of  the  Army  of  the  Loire  :  and 
their  hearts  beat  time  to  the  pounding  of  the 
guns,  their  eyes  lighted  with  each  flash  from 
the  bastions,  and  hope  rose  with  the  drifting 
rockets. 

A  black  cloud  hung  over  the  fortifications. 
From  horizon  to  horizon  the  cannon  smoke 
stretched  in  wavering  bands,  now  capping  the 
spires  and  domes  with  cloud,  now  blowing  in 
streamers  and  shreds  along  the  streets,  now 
descending  from  the  house-tops,  enveloping 
quays,  bridges,  and  river,  in  a  sulphurous 
mist.  And  through  the  smoke  pall  the  light 
ning  of  the  cannon  played  while  from  time  to 
time  a  rift  above  showed  a  fathomless  black 
vault  set  with  stars. 

He  turned  again  into  the  rue  de  Seine,  that 
sad  abandoned  street,  with  its  rows  of  closed 


10.8  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

shutters  and  desolate  ranks  of  unlighted  lamps* 
He  was  a  little  nervous  and  wished  once  or 
twice  for  a  revolver,  but  the  slinking  forms 
which  passed  him  in  the  darkness  were  too 
weak  with  hunger  to  be  dangerous,  he  thought, 
and  he  passed  on  unmolested  to  his  doorway. 
But  there  somebody  sprang  at  his  throat. 
Over  and  over  the  icy  pavement  he  rolled 
with  his  assailant,  tearing  at  the  noose  about 
his  neck,  and  then  with  a  wrench  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

"  Get  up,"  he  cried  to  the  other. 

Slowly  and  with  great  deliberation,  a  small 
gamin  picked  himself  out  of  the  gutter  and 
surveyed  Trent  with  disgust. 

"  That's  a  nice  clean  trick,"  said  Trent ; 
«'  a  whelp  of  your  age  !  You'll  finish  against  a 
dead  wall  !  Give  me  that  cord  !  " 

The  urchin  handed  him  the  noose  without 
a  word. 

Trent  struck  a  match  and  looked  at  his  as 
sailant.  It  was  the  rat-killer  of  the  day  be 
fore. 

••  H'm  !  I  thought  so,"  he  muttered. 

"Tiens,  cest  toi  ? "  said  the  gamin  tran 
quilly. 

The  impudence,  the  overpowering  audacity 
of  the  ragamuffin  took  Trent's  breath  away. 

"  Do  you  know,  you  young  strangler,"  he 
gasped,  "  that  they  shoot  thieves  of  your  age  ?  " 

The  child  turned  a  passionless  face  to  Trent. 

"  Shoot,  then." 

That  was  too  much,  and  he  turned  on  his 
heel  and  entered  his  hotel. 

Groping  up  the  unlighted  stairway,  he  at 
last  reached  his  own  landing  and  felt  about 
in  the  darkness  for  the  door.  From  his  studio 
came  the  sound  of  voices,  West's  hearty  laugh 


7 HE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL. 


I99 


and  Fallowby's  chuckle,  and  at  last  he  found 
the  knob  and,  pushing  back  the  door,  stood  a 
moment  confused  by  the  light. 

"  Hello,  Jack  ! "  cried  West,  "  you're  a 
pleasant  creature,  inviting  people  to  dine  and 
letting  them  wait.  Here's  Fallowby  weeping 
with  hunger " 

"  Shut  up,"  observed  the  latter,  "  perhaps 
he's  been  out  to  buy  a  turkey." 

"  He's  been  out  garroting,  look  at  his  noose  !  " 
laughed  Guernalec. 

"So  now  we  know  where  you  get  your 
cash  !  "  added  West ;  "  vive  le  coup  du  Pere 
Francois  !  " 

Trent  shook  hands  with  everybody  and 
laughed  at  Sylvia's  pale  face. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  late  ;  I  stopped  on  the 
bridge  a  moment  to  watch  the  bombardment. 
Were  you  anxious,  Sylvia  ?  " 

She  smiled  and  murmured,  "  Oh,  no  !  "  but 
her  hand  dropped  into  his  and  tightened  con 
vulsively. 

"  To  the  table  !  "  shouted  Fallowby,  and 
uttered  a  joyous  whoop. 

"  Take  it  easy,"  observed  Thorne,  with  a 
remnant  of  manners  ;  "  you  are  not  the  host, 
you  know." 

Marie  Guernalec,  who  had  been  chattering 
with  Colette,  jumped  up  and  took  Thome's 
arm  and  Monsieur  Guernalec  drew  Odile's 
arm  through  his. 

Trent,,  bowing  gravely,  offered  his  own  arm 
to  Colette,  West  took  in  Sylvia,  and  Fallowby 
hovered  anxiously  in  the  rear. 

"  You  march  around  the  table  three  times 
singing  the  Marseillaise,"  explained  Sylvia, 
••  and  Monsieur  Fallowby  pounds  on  the  table 
and  beats  time." 


2OO  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

Fallowby  suggested  that  they  could  sing 
after  dinner,  but  his  protest  was  drowned  in 
the  ringing  chorus 

"  Aux  armes  J 
Formez  vos  bataillons  I  " 

Around  the  room  they  marched  singing, 

"  Marchons !  Marchons !  " 

with  all  their  might,  while  Fallowby  with  very 
bad  grace,  hammered  on  the  table,  consoling 
himself  a  little  with  the  hope  that  the  exercise 
would  increase  his  appetite.  Hercules,  the 
black  and  tan,  fled  under  the  bed,  from  which 
retreat  he  yapped  and  whined  until  dragged 
out  by  Guernalec  and  placed  in  Odile's  lap. 

"  And  now,"  said  Trent  gravely,  when 
everybody  was  seated,  "  listen  !  "  and  he  read 
the  menu. 

Beef  Soup  &  la  Siege  de  Paris. 

Fish. 

Sardines  a  la  pere  Lachaise. 
(White  Wine) 


Roti  (Red  Wine). 
Fresh  Beef  a  la  sortie. 

Vegetables. 

Canned  Beans  a  la  chasse=pot, 

Canned  Peas  Gravelotte, 

Potatoes  Irlandaises, 

Miscellaneous, 


Cold  Corned  Beef  a  la  Thi«rs, 
3tewed  Prunes  a  la  Garibaldi. 

Dessert. 

Dried  prunes— White  bread, 

Currant  Jelly, 

Tea— Cafe. 

Liqueurs, 

Pipes  and  Cigarettes. 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL.     3OI 
\ 

Fallowby  applauded  frantically,  and  Sylvia 
served  the  soup. 

"  Isn't  it  delicious  ?  "  sighed  Odile. 

Marie  Guernalec  sipped  her  soup  in  rapture. 

11  Not  at  all  like  horse,  and  I  don't  care  what 
they  say,  horse  doesn't  taste  like  beef,"  whis 
pered  Colette  to  West.  Fallowby  who  had 
finished,  began  to  caress  his  chin  and  eye  the 
tureen. 

"  Have  some  more,  old  chap  ?  "  inquired 
Trent. 

"  Monsieur  Fallowby  cannot  have  any 
more,"  announced  Sylvia  ;  "  I  am  saving  this 
for  the  concierge."  Fallowby  transferred  his 
eyes  to  the  fish. 

The  sardines,  hot  from  the  grille,  were  a 
great  success.  While  the  others  were 
eating  Sylvia  ran  downstairs  with  the  soup 
for  the  old  concierge  and  her  husband,  and 
when  she  hurried  back,  flushed  and  breath 
less,  and  had  slipped  into  her  chair  with  a 
happy  smile  at  Trent,  that  young  man  arose, 
and  silence  fell  over  the  table.  For  an  in 
stant  he  looked  at  Sylvia  and  thought  he 
had  never  seen  her  so  beautiful. 

•'You  all  know,"  he  began,  "  that  to-day  is 
my  wife's  nineteenth  birthday " 

Fallowby,  bubbling  with  enthusiasm,  waved 
his  glass  in  circles  about  his  head  to  the  terror 
of  Odile  and  Colette,  his  neighbors,  and 
Thorne,  West  and  Guernalec  refilled  their 
glasses  three  times  before  the  storm  of 
applause  which  the  toast  of  Sylvia  had 
provoked,  subsided. 

Three  times  the  glasses  were  filled  and 
emptied  to  Sylvia,  and  again  to  Trent  who 
protested. 

"  This   is   irregular,"   he   cried,  "  the  next 


202  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

toast  is  to  the  twin   Republics,    France   and 
America  ?  " 

"  To  the  Republics  !  To  the  Republics  !  " 
they  cried,  and  the  toast  was  drunk  amid 
shouts  of  "  Vive  la  France  !  Vive  1'Amerique  ! 
Vive  la  Nation  !  " 

Then  Trent,  with  a  smile  at  West,  offered 
the  toast,  "To  a  Happy  Pair  !"  and  every 
body  understood,  and  Sylvia  leaned  over  and 
kissed  Colette  while  Trent  bowed  to  West. 

The  beef  was  eaten  in  comparative  calm, 
but  when  it  was  finished  and  a  portion  of  it 
set  aside  for  the  old  people  below,  Trent 
cried  :  "  Drink  to  Paris  !  May  she  rise  from 
her  ruins  and  crush  the  invader  !  "  and  the 
cheers  rang  out,  drowning  for  a  moment  the 
monotonous  thunder  of  the  Prussian  guns. 

Pipes  and  cigarettes  were  lighted,  and  Trent 
listened  an  instant  to  the  animated  chatter 
around  him,  broken  by  ripples  of  laughter 
from  the  girls  or  the  mellow  chuckle  of  Fal- 
lowby.  Then  he  turned  to  West. 

"  There  is  going  to  be  a  sortie  to-night,"  he 
said,  "  I  saw  the  American  Ambulance  sur 
geon  just  before  I  came  in  and  he  asked  me 
to  speak  to  you  fellows.  Any  aid  we  can  give 
him  will  not  come  amiss." 

Then  dropping  his  voice  and  speaking  in 
English,  "  As  for  me,  I  shall  go  out  with  the 
ambulance  to-morrow  morning.  There  is  of 
course  no  danger,  but  it's  just  as  well  to  keep 
it  from  Sylvia." 

West  nodded.  Thome  and  Guernalec,  who 
had  heard,  broke  in  and  offered  assistance,  and 
Fallowby  volunteered  with  a  groan. 

"  All  right,"  said  Trent  rapidly, — "  no  more 
now,  but  meet  me  at  Ambulance  headquarters 
to-morrow  morning  at  eight." 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL.     203 

Sylvia  and  Colette,  who  were  becoming  un 
easy  at  the  conversation  in  English,  now 
demanded  to  know  what  they  were  talking 
about. 

"  What  does  a  sculptor  usually  talk  about  ?  " 
cried  West,  with  a  laugh. 

Odile  glanced  reproachfully  at  Thorne,  her 
fiance". 

"  You  are  not  French,  you  know,  and  it  is 
none  of  your  business,  this  war,"  said  Odile 
with  much  dignity. 

Thorne  looked  meek,  but  West  assumed  an 
air  of  outraged  virtue. 

"  It  seems,"  he  said  to  Fallowby,  "that  a 
fellow  cannot  discuss  the  beauties  of  Greek 
sculpture  in  his  mother  tongue,  without  being 
openly  suspected." 

Colette  placed  her  hand  over  his  mouth  and 
turning  to  Sylvia,  murmured,  "  They  are  hor 
ridly  untruthful,  these  men." 

" 1  believe  the  word  for  ambulance  is  the 
same  in  both  languages,"  said  Marie  Guernalec 
saucily ;  "  Sylvia,  don't  trust  Monsieur 
Trent." 

"  Jack,  "  whispered  Sylvia,  "  promise 
me " 

A  knock  at  the  studio  door  interrupted 
her. 

"  Come  in  !  n  cried  Fallowby,  but  Trent 
sprang  up,  and  opening  the  door,  looked  out. 
Then  with  a  hasty  excuse  to  the  rest,  he 
stepped  into  the  hall-way  and  closed  the 
door. 

When  he  returned  he  was  grumbling. 

"What  is  it,  Jack  ?  "  cried  West. 

"What  is  it?"  repeated  Trent  savagely; 
•«  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is  I  have  received  a 
dispatch  from  the  American  Minister  to  go  at 


£04  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

once  and  identify  and  claim,  as  a  fellow- 
countryman  and  a  brother  artist,  a  rascally 
thief  and  a  German  spy  !  " 

"  Don't  go, "suggested  Fallowby. 

"  It  I  don't  they'll  shoot  him  at  once." 

"  Let  them,"  growled  Thorne. 

"  Do  you  fellows  know  who  it  is  ?  " 

"  Hartman  !  "  shouted  West,  inspired. 

Sylvia  sprang  up  deathly  white,  but  Odilo 
slipped  her  arm  around  her  and  supported 
her  to  a  chair,  saying  calmly,  "Sylvia  has 
fainted, — it's  the  hot  room,  —  bring  soma 
water." 

Trent  brought  it  at  once. 

Sylvia  opened  her  eyes,  and  after  a  moment 
rose,  and  supported  by  Marie  Guernalec  and 
Trent,  passed  into  the  bedroom. 

It  was  the  signal  for  breaking  up,  and 
everybody  came  and  shook  hands  with  Trent, 
saying  they  hoped  Sylvia  would  sleep  it  oft 
and  that  it  would  be  nothing. 

When  Marie  Guernalec  took  leave  of  him, 
she  avoided  his  eyes,  but  he  spoke  to  her  cor 
dially  and  thanked  her  for  her  aid. 

"  Anything  I  can  do,  Jack  ?  "  inquired  West, 
lingering,  and  then  hurried  downstairs  to 
catch  up  with  the  rest. 

Trent  leaned  over  the  banisters,  listening 
to  their  footsteps  and  chatter,  and  then  the 
lower  door  banged  and  the  house  was  si 
lent.  He  lingered,  staring  down  into  the 
blackness,  biting  his  lips  ;  then  with  an  im 
patient  movement,  "  I  am  crazy  !  "  he  mut 
tered,  and  lighting  a  candle,  went  into  the 
bedroom.  Sylvia  was  lying  on  the  bed.  He 
bent  over  her,  smoothing  the  curly  hair  on 
her  forehead. 

"  Are  you  better,  dear  Sylvia  ?  " 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL. 


205 


She  did  not  answer,  but  raised  her  eyes  to 
his.  For  an  instant  he  met  her  gaze,  but 
what  he  read  there  sent  a  chill  to  his  heart 
and  he  sat  down  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

At  last  she  spoke  in  a  voice,  changed  and 
strained, — a  voice  which  he  had  never  heard, 
and  he  dropped  his  hands  and  listened,  bolt 
upright  in  his  chair. 

"Jack,  it  has  come  at  last.  I  have  feared 
it  and  trembled, — ah  !  how  often  have  I  lain 
awake  at  night  with  this  on  my  heart  and 
prayed  that  I  might  die  before  you  should 
ever  know  of  it  !  For  I  love  you,  Jack,  and 
if  you  go  away  I  cannot  live.  I  have  de 
ceived  you  ; — it  happened  before  I  knew  you, 
but  since  that  first  day  when  you  found  me 
weeping  in  the  Luxembourg  and  spoke  to  me, 
Jack,  I  have  been  faithful  to  you  in  every 
thought  and  deed.  I  loved  you  from  the  first, 
and  did  not  dare  to  tell  you  this — fearing  that 
you  would  go  away  ;  and  since  then  my  love 
has  grown — grown — and  oh  !  I  suffered  ! — - 
but  I  dared  not  tell  you.  And  now  you  know, 
but  you  do  not  know  the  worst.  For  him — 
now — what  do  I  care  ?  He  was  cruel — oh  so 
cruel  !  " 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  arms. 

"Must  I  go  on?"  Must  I  tell  you — can 
you  not  imagine,  oh  !  Jack — 

He  did  not  stir  ;  his  eyes  seemed  dead. 

«  I — I  Was  so  young,  I  knew  nothing,  and 
he  said — said  that  he  loved  me " 

Trent  rose  and  struck  the  candle  with  his 
clenched  fist,  and  the  room  was  dark. 

The  bells  of  St.  Sulpice  tolled  the  hour,  and 
she  started  up,  speaking  with  feverish  haste, 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

-— "  I  must  finish  !  When  you  told  me  you 
loved  me — you — you  asked  me  nothing  ;  but 
then,  even  then,  it  was  too  late,  and  that 
other  life  which  binds  me  to  him,  must  stand 
forever  between  you  and  me  !  For  there  is 
anuther  whom  he  has  claimed,  and  is  good 
to.  He  must  not  die, — they  cannot  shoot 
him,  for  that  other's  sake  !  " 

Trent  sat  motionless  but  his  thoughts  ran 
on  in  an  interminable  whirl. 

Sylvia,  little  Sylvia,  who  shared  with  him 
his  student  life, — who  bore  with  him  the 
dreary  desolation  of  the  siege  without  com 
plaint, — this  slender  blue-eyed  girl  whom  he 
was  so  quietly  fond  of,  whom  he  teased  or 
caressed  as  the  whim  suited,  who  sometimes 
made  him  the  least  bit  impatient  with  her 
passionate  devotion  to  him, — could  this  be 
the  same  Sylvia  who  lay  weeping  there  in  the 
darkness  ?  " 

Then  he  clinched  his  teeth.  "  Let  him 
die  !  Let  him  die  !  " — but  then, — for  Sylvia's 
sake,  and, — for  that  other's  sake, — "  Yes,  he 
would  go, — he  must  go, — his  duty  was  plain 
before  him.  But  Sylvia, — he  could  not  be 
what  he  had  been  to  her,  and  yet  a  vague  ter 
ror  seized  him,  now  all  was  said.  Trembling, 
he  struck  a  light. 

She  lay  there,  her  curly  hair  tumbled  about 
her  face,  her  small  white  hands  pressed  to 
her  breast. 

He  could  not  leave  her,  and  he  could  not 
stay.  He  never  knew  before  that  he  loved 
her.  She  had  been  a  mere  comrade,  this 
girl  wife  of  his.  Ah  !  he  loved  her  now  with 
all  his  heart  and  soul,  and  he  knew  it,  onl/ 
when  it  was  too  late.  Too  late  ?  Why  ?  Then 
he  thought  of  that  other  one,  binding  her. 


THE  STRKRT  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL.      2O7 

linking  her  forever  to  the  creature,  who  stood 
in  danger  of  his  life.  With  an  oath  he  sprang 
to  the  door,  but  the  door  would  not  open, — 
or  was  it  that  he  pressed  it  back, — locked  it, 
— and  flung  himself  on  his  knees  beside  the 
bed,  knowing  that  he  dared  not  for  his  life's 
sake  leave  what  was  his  all  in  life. 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW 


HI. 


was  four  in  the  morning  when  he 
came  out  of  the  Prison  of  the  Con 
demned  with  the  Secretary  of  the 
American  Legation.  A  knot  of  peo 
ple  had  gathered  around  the  American  Min 
ister's  carriage,  which  stood  in  front  of  the 
prison,  the  horses  stamping  and  pawing  in 
the  icy  street,  the  coachman  huddled  on  the 
box,  wrapped  in  furs.  Southwark  helped  the 
Secretary  into  the  carriage,  and  shook  hands 
with  Trent,  thanking  him  for  coming. 

"  How  the  scoundrel  did  stare,"  he  said  ; 
"your  evidence  was  worse  than  a  kick,  but  it 
saved  his  skin  for  the  moment  at  least, — and 
prevented  complications." 

The  Secretary  sighed  ;  "  we  have  done  our 
part.  Now  let  them  prove  him  a  spy  and  we 
wash  our  hands  of  him.  Jump  in,  Captain  ! 
Come  along  Trent !  " 

"  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  Captain  South 
wark,  I  won't  detain  him,"  said  Trent  hastily, 
and  dropping  his  voice,  "  Southwark,  help 
me  now.  You  know  the  story  from  the  black 
guard.  You  know  the — the  child  is  at  his 
rooms.  Get  it,  and  take  it  to  my  own  apart 
ment,  and  if  he  is  shot,  I  will  provide  a  home 
for  it." 

••  I  understand,"  said  the  Captain  gravely. 

••  Will  you  do  this  at  once  ?  " 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL. 


209 


"  At  once,"  he  replied. 

Their  hands  met  in  a  warm  clasp  and  then 
Captain  Southwark  climbed  into  the  carriage 
motioning  Trent  to  follow  ;  but  he  shook  his 
head  saying,  "good-bye  !  "  and  the  carriage 
rolled  away. 

He  watched  the  carriage  to  the  end  of  the 
street,  then  started  toward  his  own  quarter, 
but  after  a  step  or  two,  hesitated,  stopped  and 
finally  turned  away  in  the  opposite  direction. 
Something — perhaps  it  was  the  sight  of  the 
prisoner  he  had  so  recently  confronted  nause 
ated  him.  He  felt  the  need  of  solitude  and 
quiet  to  collect  his  thoughts.  The  events  of 
the  evening  had  shaken  him  terribly,  but  he 
would  walk  it  off,  forget,  bury  everything,  and 
then  go  back  to  Sylvia.  He  started  on  swiftly 
and  for  a  time  the  bitter  thoughts  seemed  to 
fade,  but  when  he  paused  at  last,  breathless, 
under  the  Arc  deTnomphe,  the  bitterness  and 
the  wretchedness  of  the  whole  thing — yes,  of 
his  whole  misspent  life  came  back  with  a  pang. 
Then  the  face  of  the  prisoner,  stamped  with 
the  horrible  grimace  of  fear,  grew  in  the 
shadows  before  his  eyes. 

Sick  at  heart  he  wandered  up  and  down  un 
der  the  great  Arc,  striving  to  occupy  his  mind, 
peering  up  at  the  sculptured  cornices  to  read 
the  names  of  the  hero's  and  battles  which  he 
knew  were  engraved  there,  but  always  the 
ashen  face  of  Hartman  followed  him,  grinning 
with  terror  ! — or  was  it  terror  ? — was  it  not 
triumph  ?  —  At  the  thought  he  leaped  like 
a  man  who  feels  a  knife  at  his  throat,  but  after 
a  savage  tramp  around  the  square,  came  back 
again  and  sat  down  to  battle  with  his  misery. 

The  air  was  cold,  but  his  cheeks  were  burn- 
ing  with  angry  shame.  Shame  ?  Why  ? 
14 


210 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


Was  it  because  he  had  married  a  girl  whom 
chance  had  made  a  mother  ?  Did  he  love 
her  ?  Was  this  miserable  bohemian  existence 
then  his  end  and  aim  in  life  ?  He  turned  his 
eyes  upon  the  secrets  of  his  heart,  and  read 
an  evil  story, — the  story  of  the  past,  and  he 
covered  his  face  for  shame,  while,  keeping 
time  to  the  dull  pain  throbbing  in  his  head, 
his  heart  beat  out  the  story  for  the  future. 
Shame  and  disgrace. 

Roused  at  last  from  a  lethargy  which  had 
begun  to  numb  the  bitterness  of  his  thoughts, 
he  raised  his  head  and  looked  about.  A  sud 
den  fog  had  settled  in  the  streets  ;  the  arches  of 
the  Arc  were  choked  with  it.  He  would  go 
home.  A  great  horror  of  being  alone  seized 
him.  But  he  was  not  alone.  The  fog  was 
peopled  with  phantoms.  All  around  him  in 
the  mist  they  moved,  drifting  through  the 
arches  in  lengthening  lines,  and  vanished, 
while  from  the  fog  others  rose  up,  swept  past 
and  were  engulfed.  He  was  not  alone,  for 
even  at  his  side  they  crowded,  touched  him, 
swarmed  before  him,  beside  him,  behind  him, 
pressed  him  back,  seized,  and  bore  him  with 
them  through  the  mist.  Down  a  dim  avenue, 
through  lanes  and  alleys  white  with  fog,  they 
moved,  and  if  they  spoke  their  voices  were 
dull  as  the  vapor  which  shrouded  them.  At 
last  in  front,  a  bank  of  masonry  and  earth  cut 
by  a  massive  iron  barred  gate  towered  up  in 
the  fog.  Slowly  and  more  slowly  they  glided, 
shoulder  to  shoulder  and  thigh  to  thigh. 
Then  all  movement  ceased.  A  sudden  breeze 
stirred  the  fog.  It  wavered  and  eddied.  Ob 
jects  became  more  distinct.  A  pallor  crept 
above  the  horizon,  touching  the  edges  of  the 
watery  clouds,  and  drew  dull  sparks  from  a 


THE  STREE T  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL.   2II 

thousand  bayonets.  Bayonets — they  were 
everywhere,  cleaving-  the  fog  or  flowing  be 
neath  it  in  rivers  of  steel.  High  on  the  wall 
of  masonry  and  earth  a  great  gun  loomed,  and 
around  it  figures  moved  in  silhouettes.  Be 
low,  a  broad  torrent  of  bayonets  swept  through 
the  iron  barred  gateway,  out  into  the  shadowy 
plain.  It  became  lighter.  Faces  grew  more 
distinct  among  the  marching  masses  and  he 
recognized  one. 

"  You,  Philippe  !  " 

The  figure  turned  its  head. 

Trent  cried, — "  is  there  room  for  me  ?  "  but 
the  other  only  waved  his  arm  in  a  vague  adieu 
and  was  gone  with  the  rest.  Presently  the 
cavalry  began  to  pass,  squadron  on  squadron, 
crowding  out  into  the  darkness  ;  then  many 
cannon,  then  an  ambulance,  then  again  the 
endless  lines  of  bayonets.  Beside  him  a  cuir 
assier  sat  on  his  steaming  horse,  and  in  front, 
among  a  group  of  mounted  officers  he  saw  a 
general,  with  the  astrakan  collar  of  his  dol 
man  turned  up  about  his  bloodless  face. 

Some  women  were  weeping  near  him  and 
one  was  struggling  to  force  a  loaf  of  black 
bread  into  a  soldier's  haversack.  The  soldier 
tried  to  aid  her,  but  the  sack  was  fastened, 
and  his  rifle  bothered  him,  so  Trent  held  it, 
while  the  woman  unbuttoned  the  sack  and 
forced  in  the  bread,  now  all  wet  with  her 
tears.  The  rifle  was  not  heavy.  Trent 
found  it  wonderfully  managable.  Was  the 
bayonet  sharp  ?  He  tried  it.  Then  a  sudden 
longing,  a  fierce,  imperative  desire  took  pos 
session  of  him. 

"  Chouette  !  "  cried  a  gamin,  clinging  to  the 
barred  gate  ;  "  encore  toi  mon  vieux  f  " 

Trent  looked  up,  and  the  rat-killer  laughed 


212 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


in  his  face.  But  when  the  soldier  had  taken 
the  rifle  again,  and  thanking  him,  ran  hard  to 
catch  his  battalion,  he  plunged  into  the  throng 
about  the  gateway. 

"  Are  you  going  ? "  he  cried  to  a  marine 
who  sat  in  the  gutter  bandaging  his  foot. 

"Yes." 

Then  a  girl, — a  mere  child  caught  him  by 
the  hand  and  led  him  into  the  cafe"  which 
faced  the  gate.  The  room  was  crowded  with 
soldiers,  some,  white  and  silent,  sitting  on  the 
floor,  others  groaning  on  the  leather-covered 
settees.  The  air  was  sour  and  suffocating. 

"  Choose  !  "  said  the  girl  with  a  little  gest 
ure  of  pity  ;  "  they  can't  go  !  " 

In  a  heap  of  clothing  on  the  floor  he  found 
a  capote  and  ke"pi. 

She  helped  him  buckle  his  knapsack,  car 
tridge  box,  and  belt,  and  showed  him  how  to 
load  the  chasse-pot  rifle,  holding  it  on  her 
knees. 

When  he  thanked  her  she  started  to  her 
feet. 

"  You  are  a  foreigner  !  " 

"American,"  he  said,  moving  toward  the 
door,  but  the  child  barred  his  way. 

"  I  am  a  Bretonne.  My  father  is  up  there 
with  the  cannon  of  the  marine.  He  will  shoot 
you  if  you  are  a  spy." 

They  faced  each  other  for  a  moment.  Then 
sighing,  he  bent  over  and  kissed  the  child. 
"  Pray  for  France,  little  one,"  he  murmured, 
and  she  repeated  with  a  pale  smile  :  "  for 
France  and  you,  beau  Monsieur." 

He  ran  across  the  street  and  through  the 
gateway.  Once  outside,  he  edged  into  line 
and  shouldered  his  way  along  the  road.  A 
corporal  passed,  looked  at  him,  repassed,  and 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL.      213 

finally  called  an  officer.  "  You  belong  to  the 
6oth,"  growled  the  corporal  looking  at  the 
number  on  his  kepi." 

"  We  have  no  use  for  Franc-tireurs," 
added  the  officer,  catching  sight  of  his  black 
trowsers." 

"  I  wish  to  volunteer  in  place  of  a  comrade," 
said  Trent,  and  the  officer  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  and  passed  on. 

Nobody  paid  much  attention  to  him,  one  or 
two  merely  glancing  at  his  trowsers.  The 
road  was  deep  with  slush  and  mud  ploughed 
and  torn  by  wheels  and  hoofs.  A  soldier  in 
front  of  him  wrenched  his  foot  in  an  icy  rut 
and  dragged  himself  to  the  edge  of  the  em 
bankment  groaning.  The  plain  on  either  side 
of  them  was  gray  with  melting  snow.  Here 
and  there  behind  dismantled  hedge-rows  stood 
wagons,  bearing  white  flags  with  red  crosses. 
Sometimes  the  driver  was  a  priest  in  rusty 
hat  and  gown,  sometimes  a  crippled  Mobile. 
Once  they  passed  a  wagon  driven  by  a  Sister 
of  Charity.  Silent  empty  houses  with  great 
rents  in  their  walls,  and  every  window  blank, 
huddled  along  the  road.  Further  on,  within 
the  zone  of  danger,  nothing  of  human  habita 
tion  remained  except  here  and  there  a  pile  of 
frozen  bricks  or  a  blackened  cellar  choked 
with  snow. 

For  some  time  Trent  had  been  annoyed  by 
the  man  behind  him  who  kept  treading  on  his 
heels.  Convinced  at  last  that  it  was  inten 
tional  he  turned  to  remonstrate  and  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  a  fellow-student  from 
the  Beaux  Arts.  Trent  stared. 

"  I  thought  you  were  in  the  hospital  !" 

The  other  shook  his  head,  pointing  to  his 
bandaged  jaw. 


2I4  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

"  I  see,  you  can't  speak.  Can  I  do  any 
thing  ?" 

The  wounded  man  rummaged  in  his  haver 
sack  and  produced  a  crust  of  black  bread. 

"  He  can't  eat  it,  his  jaw  is  smashed,  and 
he  wants  you  to  chew  it  for  him,"  said  the 
soldier  next  to  him. 

Trent  took  the  crust,  and  grinding  it  in  his 
teeth,  morsel  by  morsel,  passed  it  back  to  the 
starving  man. 

From  time  to  time,  mounted  orderlies 
sped  to  the  front  covering  them  with  slush. 
It  was  a  chilly  silent  march  through  sod 
den  meadows  wreathed  in  fog.  Along  the 
railroad  embankment  across  the  ditch,  another 
column  moved  parallel  to  their  own.  Trent 
watched  it,  a  sombre  mass,  now  distinct,  now 
vague,  now  blotted  out  in  a  puff  of  fog.  Once 
for  half  an  hour  he  lost  it,  but  when  again  it 
came  into  view,  he  noticed  a  thin  line  detach 
itself  from  the  flank,  and,  bellying  in  the  mid 
dle,  swing  rapidly  to  the  west.  At  the  same 
moment  a  prolonged  crackling  broke  out  in 
the  fog  in  front.  Other  lines  began  to  slough 
off  from  the  column,  swinging  east  and  west, 
and  the  crackling  became  continuous.  A 
battery  passed  at  full  gallop  and  he  drew  back 
xvith  his  comrades  to  give  it  way.  It  went  into 
action  a  little  to  the  right  of  his  battalion,  and 
as  the  shot  from  the  first  rifled  piece  boomed 
through  the  mist,  the  cannon  from  the  fortifi 
cations  opened  with  a  mighty  roar.  An  offi 
cer  galloped  by  shouting  something  which 
Trent  did  not  catch,  but  he  saw  the  ranks  in 
front  suddenly  part  company  with  his  own, 
and  disappear  in  the  twilight.  More  officers 
rode  up  and  stood  beside  him  peering  into  the 
fog.  Away  in  front  the  crackling  had  become 
one  prolonged  crash.  It  was  dreary  waiting 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL. 


2I5 


Trent  chewed  some  bread  for  the  man  behind, 
who  tried  to  swallow  it,  and  after  a  while 
shook  his  head,  motioning  Trent  to  eat  the. 
rest  himself.  A  corporal  offered  him  a  little 
brandy  and  he  drank  it,  but  when  he  turned 
around  to  return  the  flask,  the  corporal  was 
lying  on  the  ground.  Alarmed,  he  looked  at 
the  soldier  next  to  him,  who  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,, 
but  something  struck  him  and  he  rolled  over 
and  over  into  the  ditch  below.  At  that  mo 
ment  the  horse  of  one  of  the  officers  gave  a 
bound  and  backed  into  the  battalion,  lashing 
out  with  his  heels.  One  man  was  ridden 
down  ;  another  was  kicked  in  the  chest  and 
hurled  through  the  ranks.  The  officer  sank 
his  spurs  into  the  horse  and  forced  him  to  the 
front  again,  where  he  stood  trembling.  The 
cannonade  seemed  to  draw  nearer.  A  staff 
officer,  riding  slowly  up  and  down  the  battal 
ion  suddenly  collapsed  in  his  saddle  and  clung 
to  his  horse's  mane.  One  of  his  boots  dangled, 
crimsoned  and  dripping,  from  the  stirrup. 
Then  out  of  the  mist  in  front,  men  came  run 
ning.  The  roads,  the  fields,  the  ditches  were 
full  of  them,  and  many  of  them  fell.  For  an 
instant  he  imagined  he  saw  horsemen  riding 
about  like  ghosts  in  the  vapors  beyond,  and 
a  man  behind  him  cursed  horribly,  declaring 
he  too  had  seen  them  and  that  they  were 
Uhlans  ;  but  the  battalion  stood  inactive  and 
the  mist  fell  again  over  the  meadows. 

The  colonel  sat  heavily  upon  his  horse,  his 
bullet-shaped  head  buried  in  the  astrakan 
collar  of  his  dolman,  his  fat  legs  sticking- 
straight  out  in  the  stirrups. 

The  buglers  clustered  about  him  with 
bugles  poised,  and  behind  him  a  staff  officer 


4Ig  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

in  a  pale  blue  jacket,  smoked  a  cigarette  and 
chatted  with  a  captain  of  hussars.  From  the 
road  in  front  came  the  sound  of  furious  gal 
loping  and  an  orderly  reined  up  beside  the 
colonel,  who  motioned  him  to  the  rear  with 
out  turning  his  head.  Then  on  the  left  a  con 
fused  murmur  arose  which  ended  in  a  shout. 
A  hussar  passed  like  the  wind,  followed  by 
another  and  another,  and  then  squadron  after 
squadron  whirled  by  them  into  the  sheeted 
mists.  At  that  instant  the  colonel  reared  in 
his  saddle,  the  bugles  clanged  and  the  whole 
battalion  scrambled  down  the  embankment, 
over  the  ditch  and  started  across  the  soggy 
meadow.  Almost  at  once  Trent  lost  his  "Cap. 
Something  snatched  it  from  his  head,  he 
thought  it  was  a  tree  branch.  A  good  many 
of  his  comrades  rolled  over  in  the  slush  and 
ice,  and  he  imagined  that  they  had  slipped. 
One  pitched  right  across  his  path  and  he 
stopped  to  help  him  up,  but  the  man  screamed 
when  he  touched  him  and  an  officer  shouted, 
«'  forward,  forward  !  "  so  he  ran  on  again. 
It  was  a  long  jog  through  the  mist,  and  he 
was  often  obliged  to  shift  his  rifle.  When  at 
last  they  lay  panting  behind  the  railroad  em 
bankment,  he  looked  about  him.  He  had  felt 
the  need  of  action,  of  a  desperate  physical 
struggle,  of  killing  and  crushing.  He  had 
been  seized  with  a  desire  to  fling  himself 
among  masses  and  tear  right  and  left.  He 
longed  to  fire,  to  use  the  thin  sharp  bayonet 
on  his  chasse-pot.  He  had  not  expected 
this.  He  wished  to  become  exhausted,  to 
struggle  and  cut  until  incapable  of  lifting  his 
arm.  Then  he  had  intended  to  go  home.  He 
heard  a  man  say  that  half  the  battalion  had 
gone  down  in  the  charge,  and  he  saw  another 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL.      217 

examining  a  corpse  under  the  embankment. 
The  body,  still  warm,  was  clothed  in  a  strange 
uniform,  but  even  when  he  noticed  the  spiked 
helmet  lying  a  few  inches  further  away,  he 
did  not  realize  what  had  happened. 

The  colonel  sat  on  his  horse  a  few  feet  to 
the  left,  his  eyes  sparkling  under  the  crimson 
ke"pi.  Trent  heard  him  reply  to  an  officer : 
"  I  can  hold  it,  but  another  charge,  and  I 
won't  have  enough  men  left  to  sound  a  bugle." 

"Were  the  Prussians  here  ?  "  Trent  asked 
of  a  soldier  who  sat  wiping  the  blood  trickling 
from  his  hair. 

"  Yes.  The  hussars  cleaned  them  out. 
We  caught  their  cross  fire." 

"  We  are  supporting  a  battery  on  the  em 
bankment,"  said  another. 

Then  the  battalion  crawled  over  the  em- 
bankment  and  moved  along  the  lines  of  twisted 
rails.  Trent  rolled  up  his  trousers  and  tucked 
them  into  his  woolen  socks:  but  they  halted 
again,  and  some  of  the  men  sat  down  on  the 
dismantled  railroad  track.  Trent  looked  for 
his  wounded  comrade  from  the  Beaux  Arts. 
He  was  standing  in  his  place,  very  pale.  The 
cannonade  had  become  terrific.  For  a  mo 
ment  the  mist  lifted.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  first  battalion  motionless  on  the  railroad 
track  in  front,  of  regiments  on  either  flank, 
and  then,  as  the  fog  settled  again,  the  drums 
beat  and  the  music  of  the  bugles  began  away 
on  the  extreme  left.  A  restless  movement 
passed  among  the  troops,  the  colonel  threw 
up  his  arm,  the  drums  rolled,  and  the  battalion 
moved  off  through  the  fog.  They  were  near 
the  front  now,  for  the  first  battalion  was  firing 
as  it  advanced.  Ambulances  galloped  along 
the  base  of  the  embankment  to  the  rear,  and 


2Ig  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

the  hussars  passed  and  repassed  like  phantom*, 
They  were  in  the  front  at  last,  for  all  about 
them  was  movement  and  turmoil,  while  from 
the  fog,  close  at  hand,  came  cries  and  groans 
and  crashing  volleys.  Shells  fell  everywhere, 
bursting  along  the  embankment,  splashing 
them  with  frozen  slush.  Trent  was  fright 
ened.  He  began  to  dread  the  unknown, 
which  lay  there  crackling  and  flaming  in  ob 
scurity,  The  shock  of  the  cannon  sickened 
him.  He  could  even  see  the  fog  light  up  with 
a  dull  orange  as  the  thunder  shook  the  earth. 
It  was  near,  he  felt  certain,  for  the  colonel 
shouted  "  forward  !  "  and  the  first  battalion 
was  hastening  into  it.  He  felt  its  breath,  he 
trembled,  but  hurried  on.  A  fearful  discharge 
in  front  terrified  him.  Somewhere  in  the  fog 
men  were  cheering,  and  the  colonel's  horse, 
streaming  with  blood  plunged  about  in  the 
smoke. 

Another  blast  and  shock,  right  in  his  face, 
almost  stunned  him,  and  he  faltered.  All  the 
men  to  the  right  were  down.  His  head 
swam  ;  the  fog  and  smoke  stupefied  him.  He 
put  out  his  hand  for  a  support  and  caught 
something.  It  was  the  wheel  of  a  gun  carri 
age,  and  a  man  sprang  from  behind  it,  aiming 
a  blow  at  his  head  with  a  rammer,  but 
stumbled  back  shrieking  with  a  bayonet 
through  his  neck,  and  Trent  knew  that  he  had 
killed.  Mechanically  he  stooped  to  pick  up  his 
rifle,  but  the  bayonet  was  still  in  the  man  who 
lay,  beating  with  red  hands  against  the  sod. 
It  sickened  him  and  he  leaned  on  the  cannon. 
Men  were  fighting  all  around  him  now  and 
the  air  was  foul  with  smoke  and  sweat.  Some 
body  seized  him  from  behind  and  another  in 
front,  but  others  in  turn  seized  them  or  struck 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL. 


219 


them  solid  blows.  The  click  !  click  !  click  ! 
of  bayonets  infuriated  him,  and  he  grasped 
the  rammer  and  struck  out  blindly  until  it  was 
shivered  to  pieces. 

A  man  threw  his  arm  around  his  neck  and 
bore  him  to  the  ground,  but  he  throttled  him 
and  raised  himself  on  his  knees.  He  saw  a 
comrade  seize  the  cannon,  and  fall  across  it 
with  his  skull  crushed  in  ;  he  saw  the  colonel 
tumble  clean  out  of  his  saddle  into  the  mud^ 
then  consciousness  fled. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  he  was  lying  on 
the  embankment  among  the  twisted  rails. 
On  every  side  huddled  men  who  cried  out  and 
cursed  and  fled  away  into  the  fog,  and  he 
staggered  to  his  feet  and  followed  them. 
Once  he  stopped  to  help  a  comrade  with  a 
bandaged  jaw,  who  could  not  speak  but  clung 
to  his  arm  for  a  time  and  then  fell  dead  in  the 
freezing  mire  ;  and  again  he  aided  another, 
xvho  groaned  ;  "  Trent  c'est  moi — Philippe  " 
until  a  sudden  volley  in  the  mist  relieved  him 
of  his  charge. 

An  icy  wind  swept  down  from  the  heights, 
cutting  the  fog  into  shreds.  For  an  instant, 
with  an  evil  leer  the  sun  peered  through  the 
naked  woods  of  Vincennes,  sank  like  a  blood 
clot  in  the  battery  smoke,  lower,  lower  into  th« 
blood-soaked  plain. 


220  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


IV. 

HEN  midnight  sounded  from  the 
belfry  of  St.  Sulpice  the  gates  of  Paris 
were  still  choked  with  fragments  of 
of  what  had  once  been  an  army. 

They  entered  with  the  night,  a  sullen  horde, 
spattered  with  slime,  faint  with  hunger  and 
exhaustion.  There  was  little  disorder  at  first 
and  the  throng  at  the  gates  parted  silently  as 
the  troops  tramped  along  the  freezing  streets. 
Confusion  came  as  the  hours  passed.  Swiftly 
and  more  swiftly,  crowding  squadron  after 
squadron  and  battery  on  battery,  horses  plung 
ing  and  caissons  jolting,  the  remnants  from 
the  front  surged  through  the  gates,  a  chaos  of 
cavalry  and  artillery  struggling  for  the  right 
of  way.  Close  upon  them  stumbled  the  in 
fantry  ;  here  a  skeleton  of  a  regiment  march 
ing  with  a  desperate  attempt  at  order,  there  a 
riotous  mob  of  Mobiles  crushing  their  way  to 
the  streets,  then  a  turmoil  of  horsemen, 
cannon,  troops  without  officers,  officers  with- 
out  men,  then  again  a  line  of  ambulances,  the 
wheels  groaning  under  their  heavy  loads. 

Dumb  with  misery  the  crowd  looked  on. 

All  through  the  day  the  ambulances  had 
been  arriving,  and  all  day  long  the  ragged 
throng  whimpered  and  shivered  by  the  bar 
riers.  At  noon  the  crowd  was  increased  ten 
fold,  filling  the  squares  about  the  gates,  and 
swarming  over  the  inner  fortifications. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  Ger 
man  batteries  suddenly  wreathed  themselves 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL.     2Z\ 

Jn  smoke  and  the  shells  fell  fast  on  MonU 
parnasse.  At  twenty  minutes  after  four  two 
projectiles  struck  a  house  in  the  rue  de  Bac, 
and  a  moment  later  the  first  shell  fell  in 
the  Latin  Quarter. 

Braith  was  painting  in  bed  when  West  came 
in  very  much  scared. 

"  I  wish  you  would  come  down  ;  our  house 
has  been  knocked  into  a  cocked  hat,  and 
I'm  afraid  that  some  of  the  pillagers  may 
take  it  into  their  heads  to  pay  us  a  visit  to 
night." 

Braith  jumped  out  of  bed  and  bundled  him 
self  into  a  garment  which  had  once  been  an 
overcoat. 

"  Anybody  hurt  ?  "  he  inquired,  struggling 
with  a  sleeve  full  of  dilapidated  lining. 

"  No.  Colette  is  barricaded  in  the  cellar, 
and  the  concierge  ran  away  to  the  fortifi 
cations.  There  will  be  a  rough  gang  there 
if  the  bombardment  keeps  up.  You  might 
help  us " 

"Of  course,"  said  Braith;  but  it  was  not 
until  they  had  reached  the  rue  Serpente  and 
had  turned  in  the  passage  which  led  to  West's 
cellar,  that  the  latter  cried  :  "  have  you  seen 
Jack  Trent  to-day  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Braith  looking  troubled,  "  he 
was  not  at  Ambulance  Headquarters." 

"  He  stayed  to  take  care  of  Sylvia,  I  sup 
pose." 

A  bomb  came  crashing  through  the  roof  of 
a  house  at  the  end  ot  the  alley  and  burst  in 
the  basement,  showering  the  street  with  slate 
and  plaster.  A  second  struck  a  chimney  and 
plunged  into  the  garden,  followed  by  an 
avalanche  of  bricks,  and  another  exploded 
with  a  deafening  report  in  the  next  street. 


222 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


They  hurried  along  the  passage  to  the  steps 
which  led  to  the  cellar.  Here  again  Braith 
stopped. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  had  better  run  up  to  see 
if  Jack  and  Sylvia  are  well  intrenched  ?  I  can 
get  back  before  dark." 

"  No.     Go  in  and  find  Colette  and  I'll  go." 

"  No,  no,  let  me  go,  there's  no  danger." 

"I  know  it,"  replied  West  calmly;  and 
dragging  Braith  into  the  alley  pointed  to  the 
cellar  steps.  The  iron  door  was  barred. 

"Colette!  Colette!  "  he  called.  The  door 
swung  inward,  and  the  girl  sprang  up  the 
steps  to  meet  them.  At  that  instant,  Braith, 
glancing  behind  him,  gave  a  startled  cry,  and 
pushing  the  two  before  him  into  the  cellar 
jumped  down  after  them  and  slammed  the 
iron  door.  A  few  seconds  later  a  heavy  jar 
from  the  outside  shook  the  hinges. 

" They  are  here,"  muttered  West,  very 
pale. 

"That  door, "observed  Colette  calmly,  "will 
hold  forever." 

Braith  examined  the  low  iron  structure,  now 
trembling  with  the  blows  rained  on  it  from 
without.  West  glanced  anxiously  at  Colette 
who  displayed  no  agitation,  and  this  com 
forted  him. 

"  I  don't  believe  they  will  spend  much  time 
here,"  said  Braith  ;  "  they  only  rummage  in 
cellars  for  spirits,  I  imagine." 

"  Unless  they  hear  that  valuables  are  buried 
there." 

"  But  surely  nothing  is  buried  here  ?  "  ex 
claimed  Braith  uneasily. 

"  Unfortunately  there  is,"  growled  West. 
••  That  miserly  landlord  of  mine — " 

A  crash  from  the  outside  followed  by  a  yell 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL.      22$ 

cut  him  short ;  then  blow  after  blow  shook 
the  doors  until  there  came  a  sharp  snap,  a 
clinking  of  metal,  and  a  triangular  bit  of  iron 
fell  inwards  leaving  a  hole  through  which 
struggled  a  ray  of  light. 

Instantly  West  knelt,  and  shoving  his  re 
volver  through  the  aperture  fired  every  car 
tridge.  For  a  moment  the  alley  resounded 
with  the  racket  of  the  revolver,  then  absolute 
silence  followed. 

Presently  a  single  questioning  blow  fell  upon 
the  door,  and  a  moment  later  another  and  an 
other,  and  then  a  sudden  crack  zigzagged 
across  the  iron  plate. 

"  Here,"  said  West,  seizing  Colette  by  the 
wrist,  "  you  follow,  me,  Braith  !  "  and  he  ran 
swiftly  toward  a  circular  spot  of  light  at  the 
further  end  of  the  cellar.  The  spot  of  light 
came  from  a  barred  man-hole  above.  West 
motioned  Braith  to  mount  on  his  shoulders, 

"  Push  it  over.     You  must !  " 

With  little  effort  Braith  lifted  the  barred 
cover,  scrambled  out  on  his  stomach,  and 
easily  raised  Colette  from  West's  shoulders. 

"  Quick,  old  chap  !  "  cried  the  latter. 

Braith  twisted  his  legs  around  a  fence  chain 
and  leaned  down  again.  The  cellar  was 
flooded  with  a  yellow  light  and  the  air  reeked 
with  the  stench  of  petroleum  torches.  The 
iron  door  still  held,  but  a  whole  plate  of  metal 
was  gone,  and  now  as  they  looked  a  figure 
came  creeping  through  holding  a  torch. 

"  Quick  !  "  whispered  Braith,  "  Jump  !  "  and 
West  hung  dangling  until  Colette  grasped  him 
by  the  collar  and  he  was  dragged  out.  Then 
her  nerves  gave  way  and  she  wept  hyster 
ically,  but  West  threw  his  arm  around  her 
and  led  her  across  the  gardens  into  the  next 


224 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOIV. 


street,  where  Braith,  after  replacing  the  man 
hole  cover  and  piling  some  stone  slabs  from 
the  wall  over  it,  rejoined  them.  It  was 
almost  dark.  They  hurried  through  the 
street  now  only  lighted  by  burning  buildings  or 
the  swift  glare  of  the  shells.  They  gave  wide 
berth  to  the  fires,  but  at  a  distance  saw  the 
flitting  forms  of  pillagers  among  the  debris. 
Sometimes  they  passed  a  female  fury  crazed 
with  drink  shrieking  anathemas  upon  the 
world,  or  some  slouching  lout  whose  black 
ened  face  and  hands  betrayed  his  share  in 
the  work  of  destruction.  At  last  they  reached 
the  Seine  and  passed  the  bridge,  and  then 
Braith  said  :  "  I  must  go  back.  I  am  not 
sure  of  Jack  and  Sylvia."  As  he  spoke,  he 
made  wray  for  a  crowd  which  came  trampling 
across  the  bridge,  and  along  the  river  wall  by 
the  d'Orsay  barracks.  In  the  midst  of  it 
West  caught  the  measured  tread  of  a  platoon. 
A  lantern  passed,  a  file  of  bayonets,  then  an 
other  lantern  which  glimmered  on  a  deathly 
face  behind,  and  Colette  gasped,  "  Hart- 
man  ! "  and  he  was  gone.  They  peered 
fearfully  across  the  embankment,  holding 
their  breath.  There  was  a  shuffle  of  feet  on 
the  quay  and  the  gate  of  the  barracks  slammed. 
A  lantern  shone  for  a  moment  at  the  postern, 
the  crowd  pressed  to  the  grille,  then  came 
the  clang  of  the  volley  from  the  stone 
parade. 

One  by  one  the  petroleum  torches  flared  up 
along  the  embankment,  and  now  the  whole 
square  was  in  motion.  Down  from  the 
Champs  Elyse"es  and  across  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  straggled  the  fragments  of  the 
battle,  a  company  here,  and  a  mob  there. 
They  poured  in  from  every  street  followed  by 


THE  STREET  OF  THE  FIRST  SHELL. 


22$ 


women  and  children,  and  a  great  murmur, 
borne  on  the  icy  wind,  swept  through  the 
Arc  de  Triomphe  and  down  the  dark  avenue, 
— "  Perdus  !  perdus  !  " 

A  ragged  end  of  a  battalion  was  pressing 
past,  the  spectre  of  annihilation.  West 
groaned.  Then  a  figure  sprang  from  the 
shadowy  ranks  and  called  West's  name,  and 
when  he  saw  it  was  Trent  he  cried  out, 
Trent  seized  him,  white  with  terror. 

"  Sylvia  ?  " 

West  stared  speechless,  but  Colette  moaned 
"  Oh,  Sylvia  !  Sylvia  ! — and  they  are  shelling 
the  Quarter  !  " 

"  Trent  !  "  shouted  Braith  ;  but  he  was 
gone,  and  they  could  not  overtake  him. 

The  bombardment  ceased  as  Trent  crossed 
the  Boulevard  St.  Germain,  but  the  entrance 
to  the  rue  de  Seine  was  blocked  by  a  heap  of 
smoking  bricks.  Everywhere  the  shells  had 
torn  great  holes  in  the  pavement.  The  cafe 
was  a  wreck  of  splinters  and  glass,  the  book 
store  tottered,  ripped  from  roof  to  basement, 
and  the  little  bakery,  long  since  closed,  bulged 
outward  above  a  mass  of  slate  and  tin. 

He  climbed  over  the  steaming  bricks  and 
hurried  into  the  rue  de  Tournon.  On  the 
corner  a  fire  blazed,  lighting  up  his  own 
street,  and  on  the  blank  wall,  beneath  a 
shattered  gas  lamp,  a  child  was  writing  with 
a  bit  of  cinder, 

•«  HERE  FELL  THE  FIRST  SHELL." 

The  letters  stared  him  in  the  face.  The 
rat-killer  finished  and  stepped  back  to  view 
his  work,  but  catching  sight  of  Trent's 
bayonet,  screamed  and  fled,  and  as  Trent 


225  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

staggered   across  the   shattered   street, 
holes  and  crannies  in  the  ruins  fierce  women 
fled  from  their  work  of  pillage,  cursing  him. 

At  first  he  could  not  find  his  house,  for  the 
tears  blinded  him,  but  he  felt  along  the  wall 
and  reached  the  door.  A  lantern  burned  in 
the  concierge's  lodge  and  the  old  man  lay 
dead  beside  it.  Faint  with  fright  he  leaned 
a  moment  on  his  rifle,  then,  snatching  the 
lantern,  sprang  up  the  stairs.  He  tried  to 
call,  but  his  tongue  hardly  moved.  On  the 
second  floor  he  saw  plaster  on  the  stairway, 
and  on  the  third  the  floor  was  torn  and  the 
concierge  lay  in  a  pool  of  blood  across  the 
landing.  The  next  floor  was  his,  theirs.  The 
iloor  hung  from  its  hinges,  the  walls  gaped. 
Me  crept  in  and  sank  down  by  the  bed,  and 
t&ere  two  arms  wrere  flung  around  his  neck, 
and  a  tear-stained  face  sought  his  own. 

"  Sylvia  ! " 

««  O  Jack  !  Jack  !  Jack  !  " 

From  the  tumbled  pillow  beside  them  a 
•child  wailed. 

•"  They  brought  it ;  it  is  mine,"  she  sobbed. 

"Ours,"  he  whispered,  with  his  arms  around 
them  both. 

Then  from  the  stairs  below  came  Braith's 
mnxious  voice. 

«  Trent!    Is  all  well  ?  " 


THE  STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE 

FIELDS. 

*fc  Et  tous  les  jours  passes  dans  la  tristesse 
Nous  sont  comptds  comme  des  jours  heuraax  1 " 


THE  STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE 
FIELDS. 

HE  street  is  not  fashionable,  neither 
is  it  shabby.  It  is  a  pariah  among 
streets — a  stree\  without  a  Quarter, 
It  is  generally  understood  to  Ha 
outside  the  pale  of  the  aristocratic  Avenua 
de  1'Observatoire.  The  students  of  the 
Montparnasse  Quarter  consider  it  swell  and 
will  have  none  of  it.  The  Latin  Quarter,  from, 
the  Luxembourg,  its  northern  frontier,  sneers 
at  its  respectability  and  regards  with  disfavor 
the  correctly-costumed  students  who  haunt  it. 
Few  strangers  go  into  it.  At  times,  however, 
the  Latin  Quarter  students  use  it  as  a  thorough 
fare  between  the  rue  de  Rennes  and  the  Bullier, 
but  except  for  that  and  the  weekly  afternoon 
visits  of  parents  and  guardians  to  the  Convent 
near  the  rue  Vavin,  the  street  of  Our  Lady  of 
the  Fields  is  as  quiet  as  a  Passy  boulevard. 
Perhaps  the  most  respectable  portion  lies  be 
tween  the  rue  de  la  Grande  Chaumiere  and 
the  rue  Vavin,  at  least  this  was  the  conclusion 
arrived  at  by  the  Reverend  Joel  Byram,  as  he 
rambled  through  it  with  Hastings  in  charge. 
To  Hastings  the  street  looked  pleasant  in 
the  bright  June  weather,  and  he  had  begun  to 
hope  for  its  selection  when  the  Reverend 
Byram  shied  violently  at  the  cross  on  the 
Convent  opposite. 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

"  Jesuits,"  he  muttered. 

«'  Well,"  said  Hastings  wearily,  "  I  imagine 
we  won't  find  anything  better.  You  say  your 
self  that  vice  is  triumphant  in  Paris,  and  it 
seems  to  me  that  in  every  street  we  find  Jes 
uits  or  something  worse." 

After  a  moment  he  repeated,  "  Or  something 
worse,  which  of  course  I  would  not  notice 
except  for  your  kindness  in  warning  me." 

Dr.  Byram  sucked  in  his  lips  and  looked 
about  him.  He  was  impressed  by  the  evident 
respectability  of  the  surroundings.  Then, 
frowning  at  the  Convent  he  took  Hastings' 
arm  and  shuffled  across  the  street  to  an  iron 
gateway  which  bore  the  number  201  bis 
painted  in  white  on  a  blue  ground.  Below 
this  was  a  notice  printed  in  English  : 

1.  For  Porter  please  oppress  once. 

2.  For  Servant  please  oppress  twice. 

3.  For  Parlor  please  oppress  thrice. 

Hastings  touched  the  electric  button  three 
times  and  they  were  ushered  through  the 
garden  and  into  the  parlor  by  a  trim  maid. 
The  dining-room  door,  just  beyond,  was  open, 
and  from  the  table  in  plain  view,  a  stout 
woman  hastily  arose  and  came  toward  them, 
Hastings  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  young  man 
with  a  big  head  and  several  snuffy  old  gentle 
men  at  breakfast,  before  the  door  closed  and 
the  stout  woman  waddled  into  the  room,  bring 
ing  with  her  an  aroma  of  coffee  and  a  black 
poodle. 

"  It  ees  a  plaisirto  you  receive  !  "she  cried ; 
••  Monsieur  is  Anglish  ?  No?  Americain  ?  Off 
course.  My  pension  it  ees  foi  Americains 
surtout.  Here  all  spik  Angleesh,  c'est  a  dire, 
ze  personelle  ;  ze  sairvants  do  spik,  plus  ou 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.  23! 

inoins,  a   little.      I    am  Chappy  to   have   yott 

comme  pensionaires " 

"  Madame,"  began  Dr.  Byram,  but  was  cut 
0hort  again. 

"Ah,  yess,  I  know,  ah!  mon  Dieu  !  you 
Ho  not  spik  Frainch  but  you  have  come  to 
jairne  !  My  husband  does  spik  Frainch  wiss 
I.G  pensionaires.  We  have  at  ze  moment  a 
family  Americaine  who  learn  of  my  husband 

Frainch " 

Here  the  poodle  growled  at  Dr.  Byram  anc$ 
was  promptly  cuffed  by  his  mistress. 

"  Veux  tu  !  "  she  cried,  with  a  slap,  "  veux 
tu  !  Oh  !  le  vilain,  oh  !  le  vilain  !  " 

"  Mais,  Madame,"  said  Hastings  smiling, 
"  il  n'a  pas  1'air  tres  fe~roce." 

The  poodle  fled  and  his  mistress  cried,  »  AKj . 
ze  accent  charming !     He  does  spik  already 
Frainch  like  a  Parisien  young  gentleman  !  " 

Then  Dr.  Byram  managed  to  get  in  a  word 
or  two  and  gathered  more  or  less  information 
in  regard  to  prices. 

"  It  ees  a  pension  serieux  ;  myclientelle  ees 
of  ze  best,  indeed  a  pension  de  famille  whera 
one  ees  at  'ome." 

Then  they  went  upstairs  to  examine  Hast 
ings'  future  quarters,  test  the  bed-springs  and 
arrange  for  the  weekly  towel  allowance.  Dr. 
Byram  appeared  satisfied. 

Madame  Marotte  accompanied  them  to  the-: 
door  and  rang  for  the  maid,  but  as  Hastings 
stepped    out  into  the  gravel   walk,  his  guide- 
and    mentor   paused    a    moment    and    nxeA 
Madame  with  his  watery  eyes. 

«•  You  understand,"  he  said,  "  that  he  is  a 
youth  of  most  careful  bringing  up,  and  his 
character  and  morals  are  without  a  stain. 
He  is  young  and  has  never  been  abroad, 


232 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


never  even  seen  a  large  city,  and  his  parents 
have  requested  me,  as  an  old  family  friend  liv 
ing  in  Paris,  to  see  that  he  is  placed  under 
good  influences.  He  is  to  study  art,  but  on 
no  account  would  his  parents  wish  him  to  live 
in  the  Latin  Quarter  if  they  knew  of  the  im 
morality  which  is  rife  there." 

A  sound  like  the  click  of  a  latch  interrupted 
him  and  he  raised  his  eyes,  but  not  in  time  to 
see  the  maid  slap  the  big-headed  young  man 
behind  the  parlor-door. 

Madame  coughed,  cast  a  deadly  glance  be 
hind  her  and  then  beamed  on  Dr.  Byram. 

"  It  ees  well  zat  he  come  here.  The  pension 
more  serious,  il  n'en  existe  pas,  eet  ees  not 
any  !  "  she  announced  with  conviction. 

So,  as  there  was  nothing  more  to  add,  Dr. 
Byram  joined  Hastings  at  the  gate. 

41 1  trust,"  he  said,  eyeing  the  Convent, 
<*  that  you  will  make  no  acquaintances  among 
•Jesuits  !  " 

Hastings  looked  at  the  Convent  until  a 
pretty  girl  passed  before  the  gray  fagade,  and 
then  he  looked  at  her.  A  young  fellow  with 
a  paint-box  and  canvas  came  swinging  along, 
stopped  before  the  pretty  girl,  said  something 
during  a  brief  but  vigorous  handshake  at 
which  they  both  laughed,  and  he  went  his  way, 
calling  back,  "  A  demain  Valentine  !"  as  in 
the  same  breath  she  cried,  "  A  demain  !  " 

"Valentine,"  thought  Hastings,  "what  a 
-  quaint  name  ;  "  and  he  started  to  follow  the 
Reverend  Joel  Byram  who  was  shuffling  to 
ward  the  nearest  tramway  station. 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THS  FIELDS.    233 


II. 

N*  you  are  pleas  wiz  Paris,  Mon 
sieur,  'Astang?"  demanded  Ma 
dame  Marotte  the  next  morning  as 
Hastings  came  into  the  breakfast- 
room  of  the  pension,  rosy  from  his  plunge  in 
the  limited  bath  above. 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  like  it,"  he  replied, 
wondering  at  his  own  depression  of  spirits. 

The  maid  brought  him  coffee,  and 
rolls.  He  returned  the  vacant  glance  of  the 
big-headed  young  man  and  acknowledged 
diffidently  the  salutes  of  the  snuffy  old  gentle 
men.  He  did  not  try  to  finish  his  coffee  and 
sat  crumbling  a  roll,  unconscious  of  the  sym 
pathetic  glances  of  Madame  Marotte  who  had 
tact  enough  not  to  bother  him. 

Presently  a  maid  entered  with  a  tray  on 
which  was  balanced  two  bowls  of  chocolate, 
and  the  snuffy  old  gentlemen  leered  at  her 
ankles.  The  maid  deposited  the  chocolate  at 
a  table  near  the  window  and  smiled  at  Hast 
ings.  Then  a  thin  young  lady,  followed  by  her 
counterpart  in  all  except  years,  marched  into 
the  room  and  took  the  table  near  the  window. 
They  were  evidently  American,  but  Hastings, 
if  he  expected  any  sign  of  recognition,  was 
disappointed.  To  be  ignored  by  compatriots 
intensified  his  depression.  He  fumbled  with 
his  knife  and  looked  at  his  plate. 

The  thin  young  lady  was  talkative  enough. 
She  was  quite  aware  of  Hastings'  presence, 
ready  to  be  flattered  if  he  looked  at  her,  but 


234  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

on  the  other  hand  she  felt  her  superiority  for 
she  had  been  three  weeks  in  Paris  and  he,  it 
was  easy  to  see,  had  not  yet  unpacked  his 
steamer-trunk. 

Her  conversation  was  complacent.  She 
argued  with  her  mother  upon  the  relative 
merits  of  the  Louvre  and  the  Bon  Marche"  but 
her  mother's  part  of  the  discussion  was  mostly 
confined  to  the  observation,  "  Why,  Susie  !  " 

The  snuffy  old  gentlemen  had  left  the  room 
in  a  body,  outwardly  polite  and  inwardly 
raging.  They  could  not  endure  the  Amer 
icans,  who  filled  the  room  with  their  chatter. 

The  big-headed  young  man  looked  after 
them  with  a  knowing  cough,  murmuring, 
««  Gay  old  birds  !  " 

"  They  look  like  bad  old  men,  Mr.  Bladen,'* 
said  the  girl. 

To  this  Mr.  Bladen  smiled  and  said, 
•'They've  had  their  day,"  in  a  tone  which  im 
plied  that  he  was  now  having  his. 

"  And  that's  why  they  all  have  baggy  eyes," 
cried  the  girl.  "  I  think  it's  a  shame  for  young 
gentlemen — 

"  Why,  Susie,"  said  tfie  mother,  and  the  con 
versation  lagged. 

After  a  while  Mr.  Bladen  threw  down  the 
"Petit  Journal,"  which  he  daily  studied  at  the 
expense  of  the  house,  and  turning  to  Hastings 
started  to  make  himself  agreeable.  He  be 
gan  by  saying,  "  I  see  you  are  an  American." 

To  this  brilliant  and  original  opening,  Hast 
ings,  deadly  homesick,  replied  gratefully,  and 
the  conversation  was  judiciously  nourished 
by  observations  from  Miss  Susie  Byng  dis 
tinctly  addressed  to  Mr.  Bladen.  In  the  course 
of  events  Miss  Susie,  forgetting  to  address 
herself  exclusively  to  Mr.  Bladen,  and  Hast- 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS. 


235 


ings  replying  to  her  general  question,  the 
entente  cordiale  was  established,  and  Susie 
and  her  mother  extended  a  protectorate  over 
what  was  clearly  neutral  territory. 

"  Mr.  Hastings,  you  must  not  desert  the 
pension  every  evening  as  Mr.  Bladen  does. 
Paris  is  an  awful  place  for  young  gentlemen, 
and  Mr.  Bladen  is  a  horrid  cynic." 

Mr.  Bladen  looked  gratified. 

Hastings  answered,  "  I  shall  be  at  the 
studio  all  day,  and  1  imagine  I  shall  be  glad 
enough  to  come  back  at  night." 

Mr.  Bladen,  who,  at  a  salary  of  fifteen  dol 
lars  a  week,  acted  as  agent  for  the  Pewly 
Manufacturing  Company  of  Troy,  N.  Y., 
smiled  a  skeptical  smile  and  withdrew  to 
keep  an  appointment  with  a  customer  on  the 
Boulevard  Magenta. 

Hastings  walked  into  the  garden  with  Mrs. 
Byng  and  Susie,  and,  at  their  invitation,  sat 
down  in  the  shade  before  the  iron  gate. 

The  chestnut  trees  still  bore  their  fragrant 
spikes  of  pink  and  white  and  the  bees  hummed 
among  the  roses,  trellised  on  the  white-walled 
house. 

A  faint  freshness  was  in  the  air.  The 
watering  carts  moved  up  and  down  the  street, 
and  a  clear  stream  bubbled  over  the  spotless 
gutters  of  the  rue  de  la  Grande  Chaumiere. 
The  sparrows  were  merry  along  the  curb 
stones,  taking  bath  after  bath  in  the  water 
and  ruffling  their  feathers  with  delight.  In 
a  walled  garden  across  the  street  a  pair  of 
blackbirds  whistled  among  the  almond  trees. 

Hastings  swallowed  the  lump  in  his  throat,, 
for  the  song  of  the  birds  and  the  ripple  of 
water  in  a  Paris  gutter  brought  back  to  him 
the  sunny  meadows  of  Millbrook. 


2^5  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

"That's  a  blackbird,"  observed  Miss  Byng  ; 
«« see  him  there  on  the  bush  with  pink  blos 
soms.  He's  all  black  except  his  bill,  and  that 
looks  as  if  it  had  been  dipped  in  an  omelet, 
as  some  Frenchman  says — 

"  Why,  Susie  !  "  said  Mrs.  Byng. 

"  That  garden  belongs  to  a  studio  inhabited 
by  two  Americans,"  continued  the  girl  ser 
enely,  "  and  I  often  see  them  pass.  They 
seem  to  need  a  great  many  models,  mostly 
young  and  feminine — 

"  Why,  Susie  !  " 

•«  Perhaps  they  prefer  painting  that  kind,  but 
I  don't  see  why  they  should  invite  five,  with 
three  more  young  gentlemen,  and  all  get  into 
two  cabs  and  drive  away  singing.  This  street," 
she  continued,  "  is  dull.  There  is  nothing  to 
see  except  the  garden  and  a  glimpse  of  the 
Boulevard  Montparnasse  through  the  rue  de 
la  Grande  Chaumicre.  No  one  ever  passes 
except  a  policeman.  There  is  a  convent  on 
the  corner." 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  Jesuit  College,"  began 
Hastings,  but  \vas  at  once  overwhelmed  with 
a  Baedecker  description  of  the  place,  ending 
with,  "  on  one  side  stand  the  palatial  hotels  of 
Jean  Paul  Laurens  and  Guillaume  Bougereau, 
and  opposite,  in  the  little  Passage  Stanislas, 
Carolus  Duran  paints  the  masterpieces  which 
charm  the  world." 

The  blackbird  burst  into  a  ripple  of  golden 
throaty  notes,  and  from  some  distant  green 
spot  in  the  city,  an  unknown  wild-bird  an 
swered  with  a  frenzy  of  liquid  trills  until  the 
sparrows  paused  in  their  ablutions  to  look  up 
with  restless  chirps. 

Then  a  butterfly  came  and  sat  on  a  cluster 
«f  heliotrope  and  waved  his  crimson-banded 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.    237 

wings  in  the  hot  sunshine.  Hastings  kne\v 
him  for  a  friend  and  before  his  eyes  there 
came  a  vision  of  tall  mullins  and  scented 
milkweed  alive  with  painted  wings,  a  vision 
of  a  white  house  and  woodbine-covered  piazza, 
— a  glimpse  of  a  man  reading  and  a  woman 
leaning  over  the  pansy  bed, — and  his  heart 
was  full.  He  was  startled  a  moment  later  by 
Miss  Byng. 

"  I  believe  you  are  homesick  !  "  Hastings 
blushed.  Miss  Byng  looked  at  him  with  a 
sympathetic  sigh  and  continued  :  "When 
ever  I  felt  homesick  at  first  I  used  to  go  with 
mamma  and  walk  in  the  Luxembourg  Gar 
dens.  I  don't  know  why  it  is  but  those  old- 
fashioned  gardens  seem  to  bring  me  nearer 
home  than  anything  in  this  artificial  city." 

"  But  they  are  full  of  marble  statues,"  said 
Mrs.  Byng  mildly,  "  I  don't  see  the  resem 
blance  myself." 

"  Where  is  the  Luxembourg  ? "  inquired 
Hastings  after  a  silence. 

"  Come  with  me  to  the  gate,"  said  Miss 
Byng.  He  rose  and  followed  her,  and  she 
pointed  out  the  rue  Vavin  at  the  foot  of  the 
street. 

"  You  pass  by  the  convent  to  the  right," 
she  smiled  ;  and  Hastings  went 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


III. 

HE  Luxembourg  was  a  blaze  of  flow 
ers. 

He  walked  slowly  through  the 
long  avenues  of  trees,  past  mossy 
marbles  and  old-time  columns,  and  threading 
the  grove  by  the  bronze  lion,  came  upon  the 
tree-crowned  terrace  above  the  fountain.  Be 
low  lay  the  basin  shining  in  the  sunlight. 
Flowering  almonds  encircled  the  terrace  and 
in  a  greater  spiral,  groves  of  chestnuts  wound 
in  and  out  and  down  among  the  moist  thickets 
by  the  western  palace  wing.  At  one  end  of 
the  avenue  of  trees,  the  Observatory  rose,  its 
white  domes  piled  up  like  an  eastern  mosque ; 
at  the  other  end  stood  the  heavy  palace,  with 
every  window-pane  ablaze  in  the  fierce  sun  of 
June. 

Around  the  fountain,  children  and  white- 
capped  nurses  armed  with  bamboo  poles, 
were  pushing  toy  boats,  whose  sails  hung 
limp  in  the  sunshine.  A  park  policeman, 
wearing  red  epaulettes  and  a  dress  sword, 
watched  them  for  a  while  and  then  went  away 
to  remonstrate  with  a  young  man  who  had 
unchained  his  dog.  The  dog  was  pleasantly 
occupied  in  rubbing  grass  and  dirt  into  his 
back  while  his  legs  waved  in  the  air. 

The  policeman  pointed  at  the  dog.  He 
was  speechless  with  indignation. 

"Well  Captain,"  smiled  the  young  fellow. 

"  Well,  Monsieur  Student,"  growled  the 
policeman. 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS. 

"  What  do  you  come  and  complain  to  me 
for  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  chain  him  I'll  take  him," 
shouted  the  policeman. 

"  What's  that  to  me,  mon  capitaine  ?  " 

"  Wha — t !     Isn't  that  bull-dog  yours  ?  " 

"  If  it  was,  don't  you  suppose  I'd  chain 
him  ?  " 

The  officer  glared  for  a  moment  in  silence, 
then  deciding  that  as  he  was  a  student  he 
was  wicked,  grabbed  at  the  dog  who  promptly 
dodged.  Around  and  around  the  flower-beds 
they  raced,  and  when  the  officer  came  too 
near  for  comfort,  the  bull-dog  cut  across  a 
flower-bed  which  perhaps  was  not  playing  fair. 

The  young  man  was  amused,  and  the  dog 
also  seemed  to  enjoy  the  exercise. 

The  policeman  noticed  this  and  decided  to 
strike  at  the  fountain-head  of  the  evil.  He 
stormed  up  to  the  student  and  said,  "As  the 
owner  of  this  public  nuisance  I  arrest  you  !  " 

"  But,"  objected  the  other,  "  I  disclaim  the 
dog." 

That  was  a  poser.  It  was  useless  to  at 
tempt  to  catch  the  dog  until  three  gardeners 
lent  a  hand,  but  then  the  dog  simply  ran  away 
and  disappeared  in  the  rue  de  Medici. 

The  policeman  shambled  off  to  find  conso 
lation  among  the  white-capped  nurses,  and 
the  student,  looking  at  his  watch,  stood  up 
yawning.  Then  catching  sight  of  Hastings, 
he  smiled  and  bowed.  Hastings  walked  over 
to  the  marble,  laughing. 

"  Why,  Clifford,"  he  said,  "  I  didn't  recognize 
you." 

"  It's  my  moustache,"  sighed  the  other.  "  I 
sacrificed  it  to  humor  a  whim  of — of — a  friend* 
•*  What  do  you  think  of  my  dog  ?  " 


24-O  THE  KING  IN 

"Then  he  is  yours  ?  "  cried  Hastings. 

"  Of  course.  It's  a  pleasant  change  for 
him,  this  playing  tag  with  policemen,  but  he 
is  known  now  and  I'll  have  to  stop  it.  He's 
gone  home.  He  always  does  when  the  gar 
deners  take  a  hand.  It's  a  pity  ;  he's  fond  of 
rolling  on  lawns."  Then  they  chatted  for 
a  moment  of  Hastings'  prospects,  and  Clifford 
politely  offered  to  stand  his  sponsor  at  the 
studio. 

"  You  see,  old  tabby,  I  mean  Dr.  Byram 
told  me  aboutyou  before  I  met  you,"  explained 
Clifford,  "  and  Elliott  and  I  will  be  glad  to  do 
angthing  we  can."  Then  looking  at  his  watch 
again  he  muttered,  "  I  have  just  ten  minutes 
to  catch  the  Versailles  train  ;  au  revoir,"  and 
started  to  go,  but  catching  sight  of  a  girl 
advancing  by  the  fountain  took  off  his  hat 
with  a  confused  smile." 

"  Why  are  you  not  at  Versailles  ?  "  she 
said,  with  an  almost  imperceptible  acknowl 
edgment  of  Hastings'  presence. 

«'  I — I'm  going,"  murmured  Clifford. 

For  a  moment  they  faced  each  other,  and 
then  Clifford,  very  red,  stammered,  •  "  With 
your  permission  I  have  the  honor  of  present 
ing  to  you  my  friend  Monsieur  Hastings." 

Hastings  bowed  low.  She  smiled  very 
sweetly,  but  there  was  something  of  malice  in 
the  quiet  inclination  of  her  small  Parisienne 
head. 

"  I  could  have  wished,"  she  said,  "  that  Mon 
sieur  Clifford  might  spare  me  more  time  when 
he  brings  with  him  so  charming  an  Ameri 
can." 

««  Must — must  I  go,  Valentine  ?  "  began 
Clifford. 

"Certainly,"  she  replied. 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.   241 

Clifford  took  his  leave  with  very  bad  grace, 
wincing,  when  she  added,  "And  give  my  dear 
est  love  to  Ce'cile  !  "  As  he  disappeared  in 
the  rue  d'Assas,  the  girl  turned  as  if  to  go, 
but  then  suddenly  remembering  Hastings, 
looked  at  him  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Monsieur  Clifford  is  so  perfectly  hair- 
brained,"  she  smiled,  "  it  is  embarrassing 
sometimes.  You  have  heard,  of  course,  all 
about  his  success  at  the  Salon  ?  " 

He  looked  puzzled  and  she  noticed  it. 

"  You  have  been  to  the  Salon  of  course  ?  " 

"  Why  no,"  he  answered,  "  I  only  arrived 
in  Paris  three  days  ago." 

She  seemed  to  pay  little  heed  to  his  explan 
ation,  but  continued  :  "  Nobody  imagined  he 
had  the  energy  to  do  anything  good,  but  on 
varnishing  day,  the  Salon  was  astonished  by 
the  entrance  of  Monsieur  Clifford,  who  strolled 
about  as  bland  as  you  please  with  an  orchid 
in  his  buttonhole,  and  a  beautiful  picture  on 
the  line." 

She  smiled  to  herself  at  the  reminiscence, 
and  looked  at  the  fountain. 

"Monsieur  Bouguereau  told  me  that  Mon 
sieur  Julian  was  so  astonished  that  he  only 
shook  hands  with  Monsieur  Clifford  in  a  dazed 
manner,  and  actually  forgot  to  pat  him  on  the 
back !  Fancy,"  she  continued  with  much 
merriment,  "  fancy  papa  Julian  forgetting  to 
pat  one  on  the  back." 

Hastings,  wondering  at  her  acquaintance 
with  the  great  Bouguereau,  looked  at  her 
with  respect.  "  May  I  ask,"  he  said  diffi 
dently,  "whether  you  are  a  pupil  of  Monsieur 
Bouguereau  ?  " 

"  I,"  she  said  in  some  surprise.  Then  she 
looked  at  him  curiously.  Was  he  permitting 
16 


242 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


foimself  the  liberty  of  joking  on  such  short 
acquaintance  ? 

His  pleasant  serious  face  questioned  hers. 

**  Tiens,"  she  thoughf,  "what  a  droll  man.'* 

«•  You  surely  study  art  ?  "  he  said. 

She  leaned  back  on  the  crooked  stick  of  her 
parasol,  and  looked  at  him.  "  Why  do  you 
think  so  ?  " 

"  Because  you  speak  as  if  you  did." 

"You  are  making  fun  of  me,"  she  said, 
«« and  it  is  not  good  taste." 

She  stopped  confused,  as  he  colored  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  Paris  ?  "  she 
said  at  length. 

*«  Three  days,"  he  replied  gravely. 

*'  But — but — surely  you  are  not  a  nouveau  ! 
You  speak  French  too  well  ! " 

Then  after  a  pause,  "  Really  are  you  a  nou 
veau  ? " 

«'  I  am,"  he  said. 

She  sat  down  on  the  marble  bench  lately 
occupied  by  Clifford,  and  tilting  her  parasol 
over  her  small  head  looked  at  him. 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

He  felt  the  compliment,  and  for  a  moment 
iiesitated  to  declare  himself  one  ofthe  despised. 
Then  mustering  up  his  courage,  he  told  her 
how  new  and  green  he  was,  and  all  with  a 
frankness  \vhich  made  her  blue  eyes  open  very- 
wide  and  her  lips  part  in  the  sweetest  of 
smiles. 

**  You  have  never  seen  a  studio  ?  " 

•"Never." 

•««  Nor  a  model  ?  " 

"  No." 

«'  How  funny,"  she  said  solemnly.  Then 
they  both  laughed. 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.   243 

'  And  you,"  he  said,  "  have  seen  studios  ?  ** 

•  Hundreds." 

•  And  models  ?  "      »_ 
'  Millions." 

•  And  you  know  Bougereau  ?  " 

'  Yes,  and  Henner,  and  Constant  and  Lau- 
rens,  and  Puvis  de  Chavannes  and  Dagnan  and 
Courtois  and — and  all  the  rest  of  them  !  " 

"  And  yet  you  say  you  are  not  an  artist." 

"  Pardon,"  she  said  gravely,  "  did  I  say  I 
was  not  ?  " 

"  Won't  you  tell  me  ?  "  he  hesitated. 

At  first  she  looked  at  him,  shaking  her  head 
and  smiling,  then  of  a  sudden  her  eyes  fell  and 
she  began  tracing  figures  with  her  parasol  in  the 
gravel  at  her  feet.  Hastings  had  taken  a  place 
on  the  seat  and  now,  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  sat  watching  the  spray  drifting  above 
the  fountain  jet.  A  small  boy  dressed  as  a 
sailor,  stood  poking  his  yacht  and  crying,  "  I 
won't  go  home  !  I  won't  go  home  !  "  His  nurse 
raised  her  hands  to  Heaven. 

"Just  like  a  little  American  boy ,"  thought 
Hastings,  and  a  pang  of  homesickness  shot 
through  him. 

Presently  the  nurse  captured  the  boat  and 
the  small  boy  stood  at  bay. 

41  Monsieur  Rene",  when  you  decide  to  come 
here  you  may  have  your  boat." 

The  boy  backed  away  scowling. 

"Give  me  my  boat  I  say,"  he  cried,  "and 
don't  call  me  Rene",  for  my  name's  Randall  and 
you  know  it !  " 

"  Hello  !  "  said  Hastings,  — "  Randall  ?  — 
that's  English." 

"  I  am  American,"  announced  the  boy  in 
perfectly  good  English,  turning  to  look  at 


244 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


Hastings,  "  and  she's  such  a  fool  she  calls  me 
Rene"  because  mamma  calls  me  Ranny " 

Here  he  dodged  the  exasperated  nurse  and 
took  up  his  station  behind  Hastings,  who 
laughed,  and  catching  him  around  the  waist 
lifted  him  into  his  lap. 

"  One  of  my  countrymen,"  he  said  to  the 
girl  beside  him.  He  smiled  while  he  spoke, 
but  there  was  a  queer  feeling  in  his  throat. 

"  Don't  you  see  the  stars  and  stripes  on  my 
yacht  ?  "  demanded  Randall.  Sure  enough, 
the  American  colors  hung  limply  under  the 
nurse's  arm. 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  girl,  "  he  is  charming,"  and 
impulsively  stooped  to  kiss  him,  but  the  infant 
Randall  \vriggled  out  of  Hastings'  arms  and 
his  nurse  pounced  upon  him  with  an  angry 
glance  at  the  girl. 

She  reddened  and  then  bit  her  lips  as  the 
nurse,  with  eyes  still  fixed  on  her,  dragged  the 
child  away  and  ostentatiously  wiped  his  lips 
with  her  handkerchief. 

Then  she  stole  a  look  at  Hastings  and  bit 
her  lip  again. 

"  What  an  ill-tempered  woman,"  he  said. 
«'  In  America,  most  nurses  are  flattered  when 
people  kiss  their  children." 

For  an  instant  she  tipped  the  parsol  to  hide 
her  face,  then  closed  it  with  a  snap  and  looked 
at  him  definatly. 

"  Do  you  think  it  strange  that  she  objected  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  said  in  surprise. 

Again  she  looked  at  him  with  quick  search 
ing  eyes. 

His  eyes  were  clear  and  bright  and  he 
smiled  back,  repeating,  "  Why  not  ?  " 

"  You  are  droll,"  she  murmured  bending 
her  head. 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.    24$ 

«  Why  ?  " 

But  she  made  no  answer,  and  sat  silent, 
tracing  curves  and  circles  in  the  dust  with  her 
parasol.  After  a  while  he  said — "  I  am  glad 
to  see  that  young  people  have  so  much  liberty 
here.  I  understood  that  the  French  were  not 
at  all  like  us.  You  know  in  America — or  at 
least  where  I  live  in  Millbrook,  girls  have  every 
liberty, — go  out  alone  and  receive  their  friends 
alone,  and  I  was  afraid  I  should  miss  it  here. 
But  I  see  how  it  is  now,  and  I  am  glad  I  was 
mistaken." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  and  kept  them 
there. 

He  continued  pleasantly — "Since  I  have  sat 
here  I  have  seen  a  lot  of  pretty  girls  walking 
alone  on  the  terrace  there, — and  then  you  are 
alone  too.  Tell  me,  for  I  do  not  know  French 
customs, — do  you  have  the  liberty  of  going  to 
the  theatre  without  a  chaperone  ?  " 

For  a  long  time  she  studied  his  face,  and 
then  with  a  trembling  smile  said,  "  Why  do 
you  ask  me  ?  " 

"  Because  you  must  know,  of  course,"  he  said 
gaily. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  indifferently,    "  I  know."* 

He  waited  for  an  answer,  but  getting  none, 
decided  that  perhaps  she  had  misunderstood 
him. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  mean  to  presume 
on  our  short  acquaintance,"  he  began, — "  in 
fact  it  is  very  odd  but  I  don't  know  your  name. 
When  Mr.  Clifford  presented  me  he  only 
mentioned  mine.  Is  that  the  custom  in 
France  ?  " 

"It  is  the  custom  in  the  Latin  Quarter," she 
said  with  a  queer  light  in  her  eyes.  Then 
suddenly  she  began  talking  almost  feverishly.-— 


246  fHB  KIXG  IN  YELLOW. 

"You  must  know,  Monsieur  Hastings,  that 
we  are  all  un  peu  sans  gene  here  in  the  Latin 
Quarter.  We  are  very  Bohemian  and  etiquette 
and  ceremony  are  out  of  place.  It  was  for 
that  Monsieur  Clifford  presented  you  to  me 
with  small  ceremony,  and  left  us  together  with 
less, — only  for  that,  and  I  am  his  friend,  and 
I  have  many  friends  in  the  Latin  Quarter,  and 
we  all  know  each  other  very  well — and  I  am 
not  studying  art  but — but " 

"  But  what  ?  "  he  said,  bewildered. 

"  I  shall  not  tell  you, — it  is  a  secret,"  she 
said  with  an  uncertain  smile.  On  both  cheeks 
a  pink  spot  was  burning,  and  her  eyes  were 
very  bright. 

Then  in  a  moment  her  face  fell.  "  Do  you 
know  Monsieur  Clifford  very  intimately  ?  " 

"  Not  very." 

After  a  while  she  turned  to  him,  grave  and  a 
little  pale. 

"  My  name  is  Valentine — Valentine  Tissot. 
Might — might  I  ask  a  service  of  you  on  such 
very  short  acquaintance  ?  " 

««  Oh,  "  he  cried,  "  I  should  be  honored." 

"  It  is  only  this,"  she  said  gently,  «« it  is  not 
much.  Promise  me  not  to  speak  to  Monsieur 
Clifford  about  me.  Promise  me  that  you  will 
speak  to  no  one  about  me." 

"  I  promise,"  he  said,  greatly  puzzled. 

She  laughed  nervously.  "  I  wish  to  remain 
a  mystery.  It  is  a  caprice." 

"  But,"  he  began,  "  I  had  wished,  I  had 
hoped  that  you  might  give  Monsieur  Clifford 
permission  to  bring  me,  to  present  me  at  your 
house." 

"  My — my  house  !  "  she  repeated. 

"  I  mean,  where  you  live,  in  fact,  to  present 
me  to  your  family." 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.   347 

The  change  in  the  girl's  face  shocked  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  cried,  "  I  have 
hurt  you." 

And  as  quick  as  a  flash  she  understood 
him  because  she  was  a  woman. 

"  My  parents  are  dead,"  she  said. 

Presently  he  began  again,  very  gently. 

"  Would  it  displease  you  if  I  beg  you  to  re 
ceive  me  ?  Is  it  the  custom  ? " 

"  I  cannot,"  she  answered.  Then  glancing 
up  at  him,  "  I  am  sorry  ;  I  should  like  to  ; 
but  believe  me,  I  cannot." 

He  bowed  seriously  and  looked  vaguely 
uneasy. 

"  It  isn't  because  I  don't  wish  to.  I — I  like 
you  ;  you  are  very  kind  to  me." 

"  Kind  ?  "  he  cried,  surprised  and  puzzlecL 

"  I  like  you,"  she  said  slowly,  "  and  we  will 
see  each  other  sometimes  if  you  will." 

"  At  friends'  houses  ?  " 

"  No,  not  at  friends'  houses." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  Here,"  she  said  with  defiant  eyes. 

"  Why,"  he  cried,  "  in  Paris  you  are  much 
more  liberal  in  your  views  than  we  are." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  Yes,  we  are  very  Bohemian." 

"I  think  it  is  charming,"  he  declared. 

"  You  see,  we  shall  be  in  the  best  of  so 
ciety,"  she  ventured  timidly,  with  a  pretty 
gesture  toward  the  statues  of  the  dead  queens,, 
ranged  in  stately  ranks  above  the  terrace. 

He  looked  at  her,  delighted,  and  she  bright 
ened  at  the  success  of  her  innocent  little  pleas 
antry. 

••  Indeed,"  she  smiled,  "  I  shall  be  well 
chaperoned,  because  you  see  we  are  under 
the  protection  of  the  gods  themselves  ;  look, 


248  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

there  are  Apollo,  and  Juno,  and  Venus,  on 
their  pedestals,"  counting  them  on  her  small 
gloved  fingers,  "  and  Ceres,  Hercules,  and— 
but  I  can't  make  out " 

Hastings  turned  to  look  up  at  the  winged 
god  under  whose  shadow  they  were  seated. 

"  Why,  it's  Love,"  he  said. 


OF  CUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS. 


IV. 


349 


HERE  is  a  nouveau  here,"  drawled 
Laffat,  leaning  around  his  easel 
and  addressing  hisfriend  Bowles, 
"  there  is  a  nouveau  here  who 
is  so  tender  and  green  and  appetizing  that 
Heaven  help  him  if  he  should  fall  into  a  salad 
bowl." 

"  Hayseed  ?  "  inquired  Bowles,  plastering  in 
a  background  with  a  broken  palette-knife  and 
squinting  at  the  effect  with  approval. 

"  Yes,  Squeedunk  or  Oshkosh,  and  how 
he  ever  grew  up  among  the  daisies  and  es 
caped  the  cows,  Heaven  alone  knows  !  " 

Bowles  rubbed  his  thumb  across  the  out 
lines  of  his  study  to  "throw  in  a  little  atmos 
phere,"  as  he  said,  glared  at  the  model,  pulled 
at  his  pipe  and  finding  it  out  struck  a  match 
on  his  neighbor's  back  to  relight  it. 

"  His  name,"  continued  Laffat,  hurling  a  bit 
of  bread  at  the  hat-rack,  "  his  name  is  Hast- 
ings.  He  is  a  berry.  He  knows  no  more 
about  the  world," — and  here  Mr.  Laffat 's 
face  spoke  volumes  for  his  own  knowledge  of 
that  planet, — "  than  a  maiden  cat  on  its  first 
moonlight  stroll." 

Bowles  now  having  succeeded  in  lighting 
his  pipe,  repeated  the  thumb  touch  on  -the 
other  edge  of  the  study  and  said  "  Ah  !  " 

"  Yes,"  continued  his  friend,  "  and  would 
you  imagine  it,  he  seems  to  think  that  every* 

thing  here  goes  on  as  it  does  in  his  d d 

little  backwoods  ranch  at  home  :  talks  about 


2-O  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

the  pretty  girls  who  walk  alone  in  the  street ; 
says  how  sensible  it  is  ;  and  how  French 
parents  are  misrepresented  in  America  ;  says 
that  for  his  part  he  finds  French  girls, — and 
he  confessed  to  only  knowing  one, — as  jolly  as 
American  girls.  I  tried  to  set  him  right,  tried 
to  give  him  a  pointer  as  to  what  sort  of  ladies 
walk  about  alone  or  with  students,  and  he  was 
either  too  stupid  or  too  innocent  to  catch  on. 
Then  I  gave  it  to  him  straight,  and  he  said  I 
was  a  vile-minded  fool  and  marched  off. 

"  Did  you  assist  him  with  your  shoe  ?  "  in 
quired  Bowles,  languidly  interested. 

"Well,  no." 

"  He  called  you  a  vile-minded  fool." 

"  He  was  correct,"  said  Clifford  from  his 
easel  in  front. 

"What — what  do  you  mean!"  demanded 
Laffat,  turning  red. 

"  That"  replied  Clifford. 

"  Who  spoke  to  you  ?  Is  this  your  busi 
ness  ? "  sneered  Bowles,  but  nearly  lost  his 
balance  as  Clifford  swung  about  and  eyed 
him. 

"Yes,"  he  said  slowly,   "it's  my  business." 

No  one  spoke  for  some  time. 

Then  Clifford  sang  out,  "  I  say,  Hastings  !  " 

And  when  Hastings  left  his  easel  and  came 
around,  he  nodded  toward  the  astonished 
Laffat. 

"  This  man  has  been  disagreeable  to  you, 
and  I  want  to  tell  you  that  any  time  you  feel 
inclined  to  kick  him,  why  I  will  hold  the  other 
creature." 

Hastings,  embarrassed,  said,  "Why  no,  I 
don't  agree  with  his  ideas,  nothing  more." 

Clifford  said  "  Naturally,"  and  slipping  his 
arm  through  Hastings',  strolled  about  with 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.    2$i 

him,  and  introduced  him  to  several  of  his  own 
friends,  at  which  all  the  nouveaux  opened  theif 
eyes  with  envy,  and  the  studio  were  given  to 
understand  that  Hastings,  although  prepared 
to  do  menial  work  as  the  latest  nouveau,  was 
already  within  the  charmed  circle  of  the  old, 
respected  and  feared,  the  truly  great. 

The  rest  finished,  the  model  resumed  his 
place  and  work  went  on  in  a  chorus  of  songs 
and  yells  and  every  ear-splitting  noise  which 
the  art  student  utters  when  studying  the  beau« 
tiful. 

Five  o'clock  struck, — the  model  yawned, 
stretched  and  climbed  into  his  trousers,  and 
the  noisy  contents  of  six  studios  crowded 
through  the  hall  and  down  into  the  street. 
Ten  minutes  later,  Hastings  found  himself  on 
top  of  a  Montrouge  tram  and  shortly  after, 
ward  was  joined  by  Clifford. 

They  climbed  down  at  the  rue  Gay  Lussac. 

"  I  always  stop  here,"  observed  Clifford,  "  I 
like  the  walk  through  the  Luxembourg." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Hastings,  "  how  can  I 
call  on  you  when  I  don't  know  where  you 
live  ?  " 

"  \Vhy,  I  live  opposite  you." 

"  What — the  studio  in  the  garden  where  the 
almond  trees  are  and  the  blackbirds — 

"  Exactly,"  said  Clifford.  "  I'm  with  my 
friend  Elliott." 

Hastings  thought  of  the  description  of  the 
two  American  artists  which  he  had  heard 
from  Miss  Susie  Byng,  and  looked  blank. 

Clifford  continued,  "  Perhaps  you  had  better 
let  me  know  when  you  think  of  coming  so, — 
so  that  I  will  be  sure  to — to  be  there,"  he 
ended  rather  lamely. 

"I  shouldn't  care  to  meet  any  of  your  model 


2C2  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

friends  there,"  said  Hastings  smiling,  "You 
Jcnovv — my  ideas  are  rather  straight  laced, — I 
suppose  you  would  say,  Puritanical.  I 
shouldn't  enjoy  it  and  wouldn't  know  how  to 
behave." 

"Oh,  I  understand, "said  Clifford,  but  added 
with  great  cordiality, — "  I'm  sure  we'll  be 
friends  although  you  may  not  approve  of  me 
and  my  set,  but  you  will  like  Severn  and  Selby 
because — because,  well  they  are  like  yourself, 
Old  chap." 

After  a  moment  he  continued,  "  There  is 
something  I  want  to  speak  about.  You  see 
when  I  introduced  you,  last  week,  in  the  Lux 
embourg,  to  Valentine 

"  Not  a  word  !  "  cried  Hastings,  smiling, 
«'  you  must  not  tell  me  a  word  of  her  !  " 

«  Why— 

«  No — not  a  word  !  "  he'said  gaily, — "  I  in 
sist, — promise  me  upon  your  honor  you  will 
not  speak  of  her  until  I  give  you  permission  ; 
promise  !  " 

"I  promise,"  said  Clifford,  amazed. 

"  She  is  a  charming  girl, — we  had  such  a 
delightful  chat  after  you  left,  and  I  thank  you 
for  presenting  me,  but  not  another  word  about 
her  until  I  give  you  permission." 

"Oh,"  murmured  Clifford. 

"  Remember  your  promise,"  he  smiled,  as 
he  turned  into  his  gateway. 

Clifford  strolled  across  the  street  and  trav. 
ersing  the  ivy-covered  alley,  entered  his  gar 
den. 

He  felt  for  his  studio  key,  muttering,  "  I 
wonder — I  wonder, — but  of  course  he  doesn't !  " 

He  entered  the  hallway,  and  fitting  the  key 
into  the  door,  stood  staring  at  the  two  cards 
tacked  over  the  panels. 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OP  THE  FIELDS.  253 


FOXHALL  CLIFFORD. 


RICHARD  OSBORNE  ELLIOTT. 


"Why  the  devil  dosen't  he  want  me  to  speak 
of  her  ?  " 

He  opened  the  door,  and,  discouraging  the 
caresses  of  two  brmdle  bull-dogs,  sank  down 
on  the  sofa. 

Elliot  sat  smoking  and  sketching  with  a 
piece  of  charcoal  by  the  window. 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  without  looking  around. 

Clifford  gazed  absently  at  the  back  of  his 
head,  murmuring,  "  I'm  afraid,  I'm  afraid  that 
man  is  too  innocent.  I  say,  Elliott,"  he  said, 
at  last,  "  Hastings, — you  know  the  chap  that 
old  Tabby  Byram  came  around  here  to  tell 
us  about — the  day  you  had  to  hide  Colette  in 
the  armoire " 

"  Yes,  what's  up  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing.      He's  a  brick." 

"Yes,"  said  Elliott,  without  enthusiasm. 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ?  "  demanded  Clifford. 

"  Why  yes,  but  he  is  going  to  have  a  tough 
time  when  some  of  his  illusions  are  dis 
pelled." 

"  More  shame  to  those  who  dispel  'em  ! " 

«« Yes, — wait  until  he  comes  to  pay  his  call 
on  us,  unexpectedly,  of  course — 

Clifford  looked  virtuous  and  lighted  a  cigar. 

"  I  was  just  going  to  say,"  he  observed, 
"  that  I  have  asked  him  not  to  come  without 
letting  us  know,  so  I  can  postpone  any  orgie 
you  may  have  intended " 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Elliott  indignantly,  "  I  suppose 
you  put  it  to  him  in  that  way." 

"  Not  exactly,"  grinned  Clifford.  Then 
more  seriously,  "  I  don't  want  anything  to  oc 
cur  here  to  bother  him.  He's  a  brick  and  it's 
a  pity  we  can't  be  more  like  him." 

"  I  am,"  observed  Elliott  complacently,'* 
only  living  with  you " 

"  Listen  !  "  cried  the  other,  "  I  have  man 
aged  to  put  my  foot  in  it  in  great  style.  Do 
you  know  what  I've  done  ?  "  Well — the  first 
time  I  met  him  in  the  street, — or  rather,  it 
was  in  the  Luxembourg,  I  introduced  him  to 
Valentine  !  " 

"  Did  he  object  ?  " 

"  Believe  me,  said  Clifford,  solemnly,  "  this 
rustic  Hastings  has  no  more  idea  that  Valen 
tine  is — is — in  fact  is  Valentine,  than  he  has 
that  he  himself  is  a  beautiful  example  of  moral 
decency  in  a  Quarter  where  morals  are  as 
rare  as  elephants.  I  heard  enough  in  a  con. 
versation  between  that  blackguard  Loffat 
and  the  little  immoral  eruption,  Bowles,  to 
open  my  eyes.  I  tell  you  Hastings  is  a  trump  ! 
He's  a  healthy,  clean  minded  young  fellow, 
bred  in  a  small  country  village,  brought  up 
with  the  idea  that  saloons  are  way  stations  to 
hell — and  as  for  women " 

"  Well,"  demanded  Elliott. 

"  Well,"  said  Clifford,  <(  his  idea  of  the  dan* 
gerous  woman  is  probably  a  painted  Jezabel." 

"  Probably,  replied  the  other. 

"  He's  a  trump  !  "  said  Clifford,  "  and  if  he 
swears  the  world  is  as  good  and  pure  as  his 
own  heart,  I'll  swear  he's  right." 

Elliott  rubbed  his  charcoal  on  his  file  to  get 
a  point  and  turned  to  his  sketch  saying,  "  ho 
will  never  hear  any  pessimism  from  Richard 
Osborne  E." 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.   2  Ctf 

"  He's  a  lesson  to  me,"  said  Clifford.  Then 
fie  unfolded  a  small  perfumed  note,  written 
on  rose-colored  paper,  which  had  been  lying 
on  the  table  before  him. 

He  read  it,  smiled,  whistled  a  bar  or  two 
from  "  Miss  Helyett,"  and  sat  down  to  answer 
it  on  his  best  cream-laid  note-paper.  When  it 
Avas  written  and  sealed,  he  picked  up  his 
stick  and  marched  up  and  down  the  studio 
two  or  three  times,  whistling1. 

«•  Going  out  ?  "  inquired  the  other,  without 
turning. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  but  lingered  a  moment  over 
Elliott's  shoulder,  watching  him  pick  out  the 
lights  in  his  sketch  with  a  bit  of  bread. 

"To-morrow  is  Sunday,"  he  observed  after 
a  moment's  silence. 

"Well?"  inquired  Elliott. 

"  Have  you  seen  Colette?  " 

"  No,  I  will  to-night.  She  and  Rowden  and 
Jacqueline  are  coming  to  Boulant's.  I  suppose 
you  and  Ce"cile  will  be  there  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,"  replied  Clifford.  "  Ce"cile  dines 
at  home  to-night,  and  I — I  had  an  idea  of 
going  to  Mignon's." 

Elliott  looked  at  him  with  disapproval. 

"  You  can  make  all  the  arrangements  for 
La  Roche  without  me,"  he  continued,  avoid 
ing  Elliott's  eyes. 

"  What  are  you  up  to  now  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  protested  Clifford. 

"  Don't  tell  me,"  replied  his  chum,  with 
scorn  ;  "  fellows  don't  rush  off  to  Mignon's  when 
the  set  dine  at  Boulant's.  Who  is  it  now  ? — 
but  no,  I  won't  ask  that, — what's  the  use  !  " 
Then  he  lifted  up  his  voice  in  complaint  and 
beat  upon  the  table  with  his  pipe.  "What's 
the  use  of  ever  trying  to  keep  track  of  you? 


f  5 5  r//£  AT/JVC  AV  YELLO W. 

What  will  Ce'cile  say, — oh,  yes,  what  will  she 
say  ?  It's  a  pity  you  can't  be  constant  two 
months,  yes,  by  Jove  !  and  the  Quarter  is  in 
dulgent,  but  you  abuse  it's  good-nature  and 
mine  too  1 " 

Presently,  he  arose,  and  jamming  his  hat 
on  his  head,  marched  to  the  door. 

"  Heaven  alone  knows  why  any  one  puts  up 
with  your  antics,  but  they  all  do  and  so  do  I. 
If  I  were  Ce'cile  or  any  of  the  other  pretty 
fools  after  whom  you  have  toddled  and  will, 
in  all  human  probabilities,  continue  to  toddle, 
I  say,  if  I  were  Ce'cile  I'd  spank  you  !  Now 
I'm  going  to  Boulant's,  and  as  usual  I  shall 
make  excuses  for  you  and  arrange  the  affair, 
and  I  don't  care  a  continental  where  you  are 
going,  but,  by  the  skull  of  the  studio  skeleton  ! 
it  you  don't  turn  up  to-morrow  with  your 
sketching-kit  under  one  arm  and  Ce'cile  under 
the  other, — if  you  don't  turn  up  in  g:>od  shape, 
I'm  done  with  you,  and  the.  rest  can  think 
what  they  please.  Good-night." 

Clifford  said  good-night  with  as  pleasant  a 
smile  as  he  could  muster,  and  then  sat  down 
with  his  eyes  on  the  door.  He  took  out  his 
watch  and  gave  Elliott  ten  minutes  to  vanish, 
then  rang  the  concierge's  call,  murmuring, 
"  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  why  the  devil  do  I  do 
it?" 

"Alfred,"  he  said,  as  that  gimlet-eyed  per 
son  answered  the  call,  "make  yourself  clean 
and  proper,  Alfred,  and  replace  your  sabots 
with  a  pair  of  shoes.  Then  put  on  your  best 
hat  and  take  this  letter  to  the  big  white  house 
in  the  rue  de  Dragon.  There  is  no  answer, 
mon  petit  Alfred." 

The  concierge  departed  with  a  snort  in 
which  unwillingness  for  the  errand  and  afifeo 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.  2^j 

tion  for  M.  Clifford  were  blended.  Then 
with  great  care  the  young  fellow  arrayed 
himself  in  all  the  beauties  of  his  and  Elliott's 
wardrobe.  He  took  his  time  about  it,  and 
occasionally  interrupted  his  toilet  to  play  his 
banjo  or  make  pleasing  diversion  for  the  bull 
dogs  by  gambling  about  on  all  fours.  "  I've 
got  two  hours  before  me,"  he  thought,  and 
borrowed  a  pair  of  Elliott's  silken -foot-gear, 
with  which  he  and  the  dogs  played  ball  until 
he  decided  to  put  them  on.  Then  he  lighted 
a  cigarette  and  inspected  his  dress-coat. 
When  he  had  emptied  it  of  four  handkerchiefs, 
a  fan,  and  a  pair  of  crumpled  gloves  as  long 
as  his  arm,  he  decided  it  was  not  suited  to 
add  eclat  to  his  charms  and  cast  about  in  his 
mind  for  a  substitute.  Elliott  was  too  thin, 
and,  anyway,  his  coats  were  now  under  lock 
and  key.  Rowden  probably  was  as  badly  off 
as  himself.  Hastings !  Hastings  was  the 
man  !  But  when  he  threw  on  a  smoking- 
jacket  and  sauntered  over  to  Hastings'  house, 
he  was  informed  that  he  had  been  gone  over 
an  hour. 

11  Now,  where  in  the  name  of  all  that's 
reasonable  could  he  have  gone  !  "  muttered 
Clifford,  looking  down  the  street. 

The  maid  didn't  know,  so  he  bestowed  upon 
her  a  fascinating  smile  and  lounged  back  to 
the  studio. 

Hastings  was  not  far  away.  The  Luxem 
bourg  is  within  five  minutes'  walk  of  the  rue 
Notre  Dame  des  Champs,  and  there  he  sat 
under  the  shadow  of  a  winged  god,  and  there 
he  had  sat  for  an  hour,  poking  holes  in  the 
dust  and  watching  the  steps  which  lead  from 
the  northern  terrace  to  the  fountain.  The 
tun  hung,  a  purple  globe,  above  the  misty 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

hills  of  Meudon.  Long  streamers  of  clouds 
touched  with  rose  swept  low  on  the  western 
sky  and  the  dome  of  the  distant  Invalides 
burned  like  an  opal  through  the  haze.  Be 
hind  the  Palace  the  smoke  from  a  high 
chimney  mounted  straight  into  the  air,  purple 
until  it  crossed  the  sun  where  it  changed  to  a 
bar  of  smouldering  fire.  High  above  the 
darkening  foliage  of  the  chestnuts  the  twin 
towers  of  St.  Sulpice  rose,  an  ever-deepening 
silhouette. 

A  sleepy  blackbird  was  carolling  in  some 
near  thicket  and  pigeons  passed  and  repassed 
with  the  whisper  of  soft  winds  in  their  wings. 
The  light  on  the  Palace  windows  had  died 
away,  and  the  dome  of  the  Pantheon  swam 
aglow  above  the  northern  terrace,  a  liery 
Valhalla  in  the  sky,  while  below  in  grim 
array  along  the  terrace  ranged,  the  marble 
ranks  of  queens,  looked  out  into  the  west. 

From  the  end  of  the  long  walk  by  the 
northern  facade  of  the  Palace  came  the  noist 
of  omnibuses  and  the  cries  of  the  street. 
Hastings  looked  at  the  Palace  clock.  Six, 
and  as  his  own  watch  agreed  with  it,  he  fell 
to  poking  holes  in  the  gravel  again.  A  con 
stant  stream  of  people  Passed  between  the 
Odeon  and  the  fountain.  Priests  in  black, 
with  silver-buckled  shoes,  line  soldiers, 
slouchy  and  rakish,  neat  girls  without  hats 
bearing  milliner's  boxes,  students  with  black 
portfolios  and  high  hats,  students  with  be"rets 
and  big  canes,  nervous,  quick-stepping  offi 
cers,  symphonies  in  turquoise  and  silver, 
ponderous  jangling  cavalrymen  all  over  dust, 
pastry  cooks'  boys  skipping  along  with  utter 
disregard  for  the  safety  of  the  basket  balanced 
oa  the  impish  head,  and  then  the  lean  outcast, 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.  2$g 

the  shambling  Paris  tramp,  slouching  with 
shoulders  bent  and  little  eye  furtively  scan 
ning  the  ground  for  smokers'  refuse  ; — all 
these  moved  in  a  steady  stream  across  the 
fountain  circle  and  out  into  the  city  by  the 
Odeon,  whose  long  arcades  were  now  begin 
ning  to  flicker  with  gas-jets.  The  melancholy 
bells  of  St.  Sulpice  struck  the  hour  and  the 
clock-tower  of  the  Palace  lighted  up.  Then 
hurried  steps  sounded  across  the  gravel  and 
Hastings  raised  his  head. 

"How  late  you  are,"  he  said,  but  his  voice 
was  hoarse  and  only  his  flushed  face  told  how 
long  had  seemed  the  waiting. 

She  said,  "  I  was  kept — indeed,  I  was  so 
much  annoyed — and — and  1  may  only  stay  a 
moment." 

She  sat  down  beside  him  casting  a  furtive 
glance  over  her  shoulder  at  the  god  upon  his 
pedestal. 

"What  a  nuisance,  that  intruding  cupid 
still  there  ?  " 

"  Wings  and  arrows  too,"  said  Hastings, 
unheeding  her  motion  to  be  seated. 

"Wings,"  she  murmured,  "oh,  yes — to  fly 
away  with  when  he's  tired  of  his  play.  Of  course 
it  was  a  man  who  conceived  the  idea  of  wings, 
otherwise  Cupid  would  have  been  insupport 
able." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

*'  Ma  foi,  it's  what  men  think." 

"  And  women  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  toss  of  her  small 
head,  "  I  really  forget  what  we  were  speaking 
of." 

"We  were  speaking  of  love,"  said  Hastings. 

"/was  not,"  said  the  girl.  Then  looking 
up  at  the  marble  god,  "  I  don't  care  for  this 


2 5 o  THE  KING  JN  YELLO W. 

one  at  all.  I  don't  believe  he  knows  how  to 
shoot  his  arrows — no  indeed,  he  is  a  coward  ; 
• — he  creeps  up  like  an  assassin  in  the  twilight. 
I  don't  approve  of  cowardice,"  she  announced, 
and  turned  her  back  on  the  statue. 

"  I  think,"  said  Hastings  quietly,  "  that  he 
does  shoot  fairly — yes,  and  even  gives  one 
warning." 

"  Is  it  your  experience,  Monsieur  Hast 
ings  ?  " 

He  looked  straight  into  her  eyes  and  said, 
"  He  is  warning  me." 

"  Heed  the  warning  then,"  she  cried,  with  a 
nervous  laugh.  As  she  spoke  she  stripped  off 
her  gloves,  and  then  carefully  proceeded  to 
draw  them  on  again.  When  this  was  accom 
plished  she  glanced  at  the  Palace  clock,  saying, 
"  Oh,  dear,  how  late  it  is  !  "  furled  her  umbrella 
then  unfurled  it,  and  finally  looked  at  him. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  not  heed  his  warn 
ing." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  she  sighed  again,  "  still  talking 
about  that  tiresome  statue  !  "  Then  stealing  a 
glance  at  his  face,  "  I  suppose — I  suppose  you 
are  in  love." 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  muttered,  "  I  suppose 
I  am." 

She  raised  her  head  with  a  quick  gesture. 
"You  seem  delighted  at  the  idea,"  she  said, 
but  bit  her  lip  and  trembled  as  his  eyes  met 
hers.  Then  sudden  fear  came  over  her  and 
she  sprang  up,  staring  into  the  gathering 
shadows. 

"  Are  you  cold  ?  "  he  said,  but  she  only  an 
swered,  "  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  it  is  late — so  late. 
I  must  go — good-night." 

She  gave  him  her  gloved  hand  a  moment 
and  then  withdrew  it  with  a  start. 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.   26l 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  insisted,  "  are  you  fright 
ened  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  strangely. 

"  No — no — not  frightened, — you  are  very 
good  to  me 

"  By  Jove  !  "  he  burst  out,  "  what  do  you 
mean  by  saying  I'm  good  to  you  !  That's  at 
least  the  third  time,  and  I  don't  understand  !  " 

The  sound  of  a  drum  from  the  guard-house 
at  the  palace  cut  him  short.  "  Listen,"  she 
whispered,  "  they  are  going  to  close.  It's  late, 
oh,  so  late  t  " 

The  rolling  ofthe  drum  came  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  then  the  silhouette  of  the  drummer 
cut  the  sky  above  the  eastern  terrace.  The  fad 
ing  light  lingered  a  moment  on  his  belt  and  bay 
onet,  then  he  passed  into  the  shadows,  drum 
ming  the  echoes  awake.  Theroll  became  fainter 
along  the  eastern  terrace,  then  grew  and  grew 
and  rattled  with  increasing  sharpness  when  he 
passed  the  avenue  by  the  bronze  lion  and 
turned  down  the  western  terrace  walk.  Louder 
and  louder  the  drum  sounded  and  the  echoes 
struck  back  the  notes  from  the  gray  palace 
wall  ;  and  now  the  drummer  loomed  up  be 
fore  them— his  red  trousers  a  dull  spot  in  the 
gathering  gloom,  the  brass  of  his  drum  and 
bayonet  touched  with  a  pale  spark,  his  epau 
lettes  tossing  on  his  shoulders.  He  passed, 
leaving  the  crash  of  the  drum  in  their  ears, 
and  far  into  the  alley  of  trees  they  saw  his 
little  tin  cup  shining  on  his  haversack.  Then 
the  sentinels  began  the  monotonous  cry:  "on 
ferme  !  on  fe-rme  !  "  and  the  bugle  blew  from 
the  barracks  in  the  rue  de  Tournon. 

"  On  ferme  !     on  ferme  !  " 

"Good-night,"  she  whispered,  "Imustre« 
turn  alone  to-night." 


2  62  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

He  watched  her  until  she  reached  the  north 
ern  terrace,  and  then  sat  down  on  the  marble 
seat  until  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  aglim- 
mer  of  bayonets  warned  him  away. 

She  passed  on  through  the  grove,  and  turn 
ing  into  the  rue  de  Medici,  traversed  it  to  the 
Boulevard.  At  the  corner  she  bought  a  bunch 
of  violets  and  walked  on  along  the  Boulevard 
to  the  rue  des  £coles.  A  cab  was  drawn  up 
before  Boulant's  and  a  pretty  girl  aided  by 
Elliott  jumped  out. 

"  Valentine  !  "  cried  the  girl,  "  come  with 
us  !" 

"  I  can't,"  she  said,  stopping  a  moment— 
"I  have  a  rendezvous  at  Mignon's." 

"Not  Victor  ?"  cried  the  girl  laughing,  but 
she  passed  with  a  little  shiver,  nodding  good 
night,  then  turning  into  the  Boulevard  St. 
Germain,  she  walked  a  little  faster  to  escape  a 
gay  party  sitting  before  the  Cafe*  Cluny  who 
called  to  her  to  join  them.  At  the  door  of  the 
Restaurant  Mignon  stood  a  coal-black  negro 
in  buttons.  He  took  off  his  peaked  cap  as  she 
mounted  the  carpeted  stairs. 

"  Send  Eugene  to  me,"  she  said  at  the  office, 
and  passing  through  the  hallway  to  the  right 
of  the  dining-room  stopped  before  a  row  of 
panelled  doors.  A  waiter  passed  and  she  re 
peated  her  demand  for  Eugene,  who  presently 
appeared,  noiselessly  skipping,  and  bowed 
murmuring,  "  Madame." 

••  Who  is  here  ?  " 

"  No  one  in  the  cabinets,  madame  ;  in  the 
hall  Madame  Madelon  and  Monsieur  Gay, 
Monsieur  de  Clamart,  Monsieur  Clisson,  Ma 
dame  Marie  and  their  set."  Then  he  looked 
around  and  bowing  again  murmured,  "  Mon* 
sieur  awaits  madame  since  half  an  hour,"  and 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.   y    j 

he  knocked  at  one  of  the  panelled  doors  tear* 
ing"  the  number  six. 

Clifford  opened  the  door  and  the  girl  en 
tered. 

The  gargon  bowed  her  in  and  whispering, 
"  will  Monsieur  have  the  goodness  to  ring," 
vanished. 

He  helped  her  off  with  her  jacket  and  took 
her  hat  and  umbrella.  When  she  was  seated 
at  the  little  table  with  Clifford  opposite,  she 
smiled  and  leaned  forward  on  both  elbows 
looking  him  in  the  face. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  she  de 
manded. 

"  Waiting,"  he  replied,  in  accents  of  adora 
tion. 

For  an  instant  she  turned  and  examined 
herself  in  the  glass.  The  wide  blue  eyes,  the 
curling  hair,  the  straight  nose  and  short 
curled  lip  flashed  in  the  mirror  an  instant 
only,  and  then,  its  depths  reflected  her  pretty 
neck  and  back.  "  Thus  do  I  turn  my  back 
on  vanity,"  she  said,  and  then  leaning  forward 
again,  "  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Waiting  for  you,"  repeated  Clifford, 
slightly  troubled. 

"  And  Cecile." 

"  Now  don't,  Valentine " 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said  calmly,  "  I  dis 
like  your  conduct  ?  " 

He  was  a  little  disconcerted,  and  rang  for 
Eugene  to  cover  his  confusion. 

The  soup  was  bisque,  and  the  wine  Pom- 
mery,  and  the  courses  followed  each  other 
with  the  usual  regularity  until  Eugene  brought 
coffee,  and  there  was  nothing  left  on  the  table 
but  a  small  silver  lamp. 

"  Valentine,"  said  Clifford,  after  having  ob- 


2^4  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

tained  permission  to  smoke,  "  is  it  the  Vaude* 
ville  or  the  Eldorado — or  both,  or  the  Nouveau 
Cirque,  or " 

"  It  is  here,"  said  Valentine. 

"Well,"  he  said,  greatly  flattered,  "I'm 
afraid  I  couldn't  amuse  you " 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  are  funnier  than  the  Eldo 
rado." 

"  Now  see  here,  don't  guy  me,  Valentine. 
You  always  do,  and,  and, — you  know  what 
they  say, — a  good  laugh  kills " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Er — er — love  and  all  that." 

She  laughed  until  her  eyes  were  moist  with 
tears.  "  Tiens,"  she  cried,  "  he  is  dead, 
then  !  " 

Clifford  eyed  her  with  growing  alarm. 

*'  Do  you  know  why  I  came  ?  "  she  said. 

41  No,"  he  replied  uneasily,  "  I  don't." 

"  How  long  have  you  made  love  to  me  ?  " 

"  Well,"  he  admitted,  somewhat  startled, — 
«•  I  should  say, — for  about  a  year." 

"  It  is  a  year,  I  think.     Are  you  not  tired  ?  '* 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  Don't  you  know  that  I  like  you  too  well 
to — to  ever  fail  in  love  with  you  ?  "  she  said. 
•«  Don't  you  know  that  we  are  too  good  com 
rades, — too  old  friends  for  that  ?  And  were 
we  not, — do  you  think  that  I  do  not  know 
your  history,  Monsieur  Clifford  ?  " 

"  Don't  be, — don't  be  so  sarcastic,"  he 
urged,  "don't  be  unkind,  Valentine." 

"  I'm  not.  I'm  kind.  I'm  very  kind, — to 
you  and  to  Ce"cile." 

"  Cecile  is  tired  of  me." 

"I  hope  she  is,"  said  the  girl,  "for  she 
deserves  a  better  fate.  Tiens,  do  you  know 
your  reputation  in  the  Quarter  ?  Of  the  in- 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.  365 

constant,  the  most  inconstant, — utterly  incor.. 
rigible  and  no  more  serious  than  a  gnat  on  a 
summer  night.  Poor  Ce'cile  !  " 

Clifford  looked  so  uncomfortable  that  she 
spoke  more  kindly. 

"  I  like  you.  You  know  that.  Everybody 
does.  You  are  a  spoiled  child  here.  Every 
thing  is  permitted  you  and  every  one  makes 
allowance,  but  every  one  cannot  be  a  victim 
to  caprice." 

"  Caprice  !  "  he  cried.  "  By  Jove,  if  the  girls 
of  the  Latin  Quarter  are  not  capricious " 

"  Never  mind, — never  mind  about  that  I 
You  must  not  sit  in  judgment — you  of  all 
men.  Why  are  you  here  lo-night  ?  Oh,"  she 
cried,  "  I  will  tell  you  why  !  Monsieur  re 
ceives  a  little  note  ;  he  sends  a  little  answer ; 
he  dresses  in  his  conquering  raiment " 

"  I  don't,"  said  Clifford,  very  red. 

"You  do,  and  it  becomes  you,"  she  retorted 
with  a  faint  smile.  Then  again,  very  quietly, 
«4 1  am  in  your  power,  but  I  know  I  am  in  the 
power  of  a  friend.  I  have  come  to  acknowl 
edge  it  to  you  here, — and  it  is  because  of  that 
that  I  am  here  to  beg  of  you — a — a  favor." 

Clifford  opened  his  eyes,  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  am  in — great  distress  of  mind.  It  is 
Monsieur  Hastings." 

"  Well,"  said  Clifford,  in  some  astonishment. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you,"  she  continued  in  a 
low  voice,  "  I  want  to  ask  you  to — to — in  case 
you  should  speak  of  me  before  him, — not  to 
say, — not  to  say " 

"  I  shall  not  speak  of  you  to  him,"  he  said 
quietly. 

"  Can — can  you  prevent  others  ?  " 

"I  might  if  I  was  present.  May  I  ask 
why  ?  " 


266  THE  KING  IX  YELLOW. 

"That  is  not  fair,"  she  murmured,  "you 
know  how — how  he  considers  me, — as  he 
considers  every  woman.  You  know  how 
different  he  is  from  you  and  the  rest.  I  have 
never  seen  a  man, — such  a  man  as  Monsieur 
Hastings." 

He  let  his  cigarette  go  out  unnoticed. 

"  1  am  almost  afraid  of  him — afraid  he 
should  know — what  we  all  are  in  the  Quarter. 
Oh,  I  do  not  wish  him  to  know  !  I  do  not 
wish  him  to — to  turn  from  me — to  cease  from 
speaking  to  me  as  he  does  !  You — you  and 
the  rest  cannot  know  what  it  has  been  to  me. 
I  could  not  believe  him, — I  could  not  believe 
he  was  so  good  and — and  noble.  I  do  not 
wish  him  to  know — so  soon.  He  will  find 
out — sooner  or  later,  he  will  find  out  for  him 
self,  and  then  he  will  turn  away  from  me. 
Why  !  "  she  cried  passionately,  "  why  should 
he  turn  from  me  and  not  from  you  f  " 

Clifford,  much  embarrassed,  eyed  his  ciga 
rette. 

The  girl  rose,  very  white.  "  He  is  your 
friend — you  have  a  right  to  warn  him." 

"  He  is  my  friend,"  he  said  at  length. 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 

Then  she  cried,  "  by  all  that  I  hold  to  me 
most  sacred,  you  need  not  warn  him  ! " 

"  I  shall  trust  your  word,"  he  said  pleas 
antly. 


-STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OP  THE  FIELDS. 


rv. 

HIE  month  passed  quickly  for  Hast 
ings,  and  left  few  definite  impressions 
after  it.  It  did  leave  some,  ho\vever. 
One  was  a  painful  impression  of 
meeting  Mr.  Bladen  on  the  Boulevard  des 
Capucines  in  company  with  a  very  pronounced 
young  person  whose  laugh  dismayed  him,  and 
when  at  last  he  escaped  from  the  cafe"  where 
Mr.  Bladen  had  hauled  him  to  join  them  in  a 
bock  he  felt  as  if  the  whole  boulevard  was 
looking  at  him,  and  judging  him  by  his  com. 
pany.  Later,  an  instinctive  conviction  re 
garding  the  young  person  with  Mr.  Bladen 
sent  the  hot  blood  into  his  cheek  and  he  re 
turned  to  the  pension  in  such  a  miserable 
state  of  mind  that  Miss  Byng  wras  alarmed  and 
advised  him  to  conquer  his  homesickness  at 
once. 

Another  impression  was  equally  vivid.  One 
Saturday  morning  feeling  lonely,  his  wanderv 
ings  about  the  city  brought  him  to  the  Gare 
St.  Lazare.  It  was  early  for  breakfast,  but  he 
entered  the  Hotel  Terminus  and  took  a  table 
near  the  window.  As  he  wheeled  about  to 
give  his  order,  a  man  passing  rapidly  along 
the  aisle  collided  with  his  head,  and  looking 
up  10  received  the  expected  apology,  he  was 
met  instead  by  a  slap  on  the  shoulder  and  a 
hearty,  "  what  the  deuce  are  you  doing  here, 
old  chap  ?  "  It  was  Rowden,  who  seized  him 
ami  told  him  to  come  along.  So,  mildly  pro* 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


testing,  he  was  ushered  into  a  private 
room  where  Clifford,  rather  red,  jumped  up 
from  the  table  and  welcomed  him  with  a 
startled  air  which  was  softened  by  the  un 
affected  glee  of  Rovvden  and  the  extreme 
courtesy  of  Elliott.  The  latter  presented  him 
to  three  bewitching  girls  who  welcomed  him 
so  charmingly  and  seconded  Rowden  in  his 
demand  that  Hastings  should  make  one  of 
the  party,  that  he  consented  at  once.  While 
Elliott  briefly  outlined  the  projected  excursion 
to  La  Roche,  Hastings,  delightedly  ate  his 
omelet,  and  returned  the  smiles  of  encourage 
ment  from  Ce"cile  and  Colette  and  Jacqueline. 
Meantime  Clifford  in  a  bland  whisper  was 
telling  Rowden  what  an  ass  he  was.  Poor 
Rowden  looked  miserable  until  Elliott,  divin 
ing  how  affairs  were  turning,  frowned  on 
Clifford  and  found  a  moment  to  let  Rovvden 
know  that  they  were  all  going  to  make  the 
best  of  it. 

"  You  shut  up,"  he  observed  to  Clifford, 
•'it's  fate,  and  that  settles  it." 

«•  It's  Rowden  and  that  settles  it,"  mur 
mured  Clifford,  concealing  a  grin.  For  after 
all  he  was  not  Hastings'  wet  nurse.  So  it 
came  about  that  the  train  which  left  the  Gare 
St.  Lazare  at  9:15  A.  M.  stopped  a  moment 
in  its  career  towards  Havre  and  deposited  at 
the  red-roofed  station  of  La  Roche  a  merry 
party,  armed  with  sunshades,  trout  rods,  and 
one  cane,  carried  by  the  non-combatant, 
Hastings.  Then,  when  they  had  established 
their  camp  in  a  grove  of  sycamores  which 
bordered  the  little  river  Ept,  Clifford,  the  ac 
knowledged  master  of  all  that  pertained  to 
sportsmanship,  took  command. 

««  You,  Rowden,"   he   said,    "  divide  your 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.  369 

flies  with  Elliott  and  keep  an  eye  on  him  or 
else  he'll  be  trying  to  put  on  a  float  and  sinker. 
Prevent  him  by  force  from  grubbing  about  for 
worms." 

Elliott  protested,  but  was  forced  to  smile  in 
the  general  laugh. 

"  You  make  me  ill,"  he  asserted  ;  "do  you 
think  this  is  my  first  trout  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  see  your  first  trout," 
said  Clifford,  and  dodging  a  fly  hook,  hurled 
with  intent  to  hit,  proceeded  to  sort  and  equip 
three  slender  rods  destined  to  bring  joy  and 
fish  to  Ce'cile,  Colette,  and  Jacqueline.  With 
perfect  gravity  he  ornamented  each  line  with 
four  split  shot,  a  small  hook,  and  a  brilliant 
quill  float. 

"  /  shall  never  touch  the  worms,"  an 
nounced  Ce'cile  with  a  shudder. 

Jacqueline  and  Colette  hastened  to  sustain 
her,  and  Hastings  pleasantly  offered  to  act  in 
the  capacity  of  general  baiter  and  taker  off  of 
fish.  But  Ce'cile,  doubtless  fascinated  by  the 
gaudy  flies  in  Clifford's  book,  decided  to  ac 
cept  lessons  from  him  in  the  true  art,  and 
presently  disappeared  up  the  Ept  with  Clif 
ford  in  tow. 

Elliott  looked  doubtfully  at  Colette. 

"  I  prefer  gudgeons,"  said  that  damsel  with 
decision,  "  and  you  and  Monsieur  Rowden 
may  go  away  when  you  please  ;  may  they  not, 
Jacqueline  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  responded  Jacqueline. 

Elliott,  undecided,  examined  his  rod  and 
reel. 

"  You've  got  your  reel  on  wrong  side  up," 
observed  Rowden. 

Elliott  wavered,  and  stole  a  glance  at 
Colette. 


YELLO  w. 

"  I — I — have  almost  decided  to — er — not 
to  flip  the  flies  about  just  now,"  he  began. 
There's  the  pole  that  Ce"cile  left— 

"  Don't  call  it  a  pole,"  corrected  Rowden. 

"  Rod  then,"  continued  Elliott,  and  started 
off  in  the  wake  of  the  two  girls,  but  was 
promptly  collared  by  Rowden. 

"  No  you  don't  !  Fancy  a  man  fishing  with 
a  float  and  sinker  when  he  has  a  fly  rod  in  his 
hand  !  You  come  along  !  " 

Where  the  placid  little  Ept  flows  down  be 
tween  its  thickets  to  the  Seine,  a  grassy  bank 
shadows  the  haunt  of  the  gudgeon,  and  on 
this  bank  sat  Colette  and  Jacqueline  and  chat 
tered  and  laughed  and  watched  the  swerving 
of  the  scarlet  quills,  while  Hastings,  his  hat 
over  his  eyes,  his  head  on  a  bank  of  moss, 
listened  to  their  soft  voices  and  gallantly  un 
hooked  the  small  and  indignant  gudgeon  when 
a  flash  of  a  rod  and  a  half  suppressed  scream 
announced  a  catch.  The  sunlight  filtered 
through  the  leafy  thickets  awaking  to  song 
the  forest  birds.  Magpies  in  spotless  black 
and  white  flirted  past,  alighting  near  by  with 
a  hop  and  bound  and  twitch  of  the  tail.  Blue 
and  white  jays  with  rosy  breasts  shrieked 
through  the  trees,  and  a  low-sailing  hawk 
wheeled  among  the  fields  of  ripening  wheat, 
putting  to  flight  flocks  of  twittering  hedge 
birds. 

Across  the  Seine  a  gull  dropped  on  the 
water  like  a  plume.  The  air  was  pure  and 
still.  Scarcely  a  leaf  moved.  Sounds  from  a 
distant  farm  came  faintly  the  shrill  cock-crovk 
and  dull  baying.  Now  and  then  a  steam-tug 
with  big  raking  smoke-pipe,  bearing  the  name, 
41  Gu€pe  27,"  ploughed  up  the  river  dragging 
Us  interminable  train  of  barges,  or  a  sailboat 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.  2>jl 

dropped  down  with  the  current  toward  sleepy 
Rouen. 

A  faint  fresh  odor  of  earth  and  water  hung 
in  the  air,  and  through  the  sunlight,  orange, 
tipped  butterflies  danced  above  the  marsh 
grass,  soft  velvety  butterflies  flapped  through 
the  mossy  woods. 

Hastings  was  thinking  of  Valentine.  It 
was  two  o'clock  when  Elliott  strolled  back, 
and  frankly  admitting  that  he  had  eluded 
Rowden,  sat  down  beside  Colette  and  prepared 
to  doze  with  satisfaction. 

"  Where  are  your  trout  ? "  said  Colette 
severely. 

"  They  still  live,"  murmured  Elliott  and 
went  fast  asleep. 

Rowden  returned  shortly  after,  and  casting 
a  scornful  glance  at  the  slumbering  one,  dis 
played  three  crimson-flecked  trout. 

"  And  that,"  smiled  Hastings  lazily,  "  that 
is  the  holy  end  to  which  the  faithful  plod, — 
the  slaughter  of  these  small  fish  with  a  bit  of 
silk  and  feather." 

Rowden  disdained  to  answer  him.  Colette 
caught  another  gudgeon  and  awoke  Elliott 
who  protested  and  gazed  about  for  the  lunch 
baskets,  as  Clifford  and  Ce"cile  came  up  de 
manding  instant  refreshment.  Ce"cile's  skirts 
were  soaked,  and  her  gloves  torn  but  she  was 
happy,  and  Clifford,  dragging  out  a  two  pound 
trout,  stood  still  to  receive  the  applause  of  the 
company. 

"  Where  the  deuce  did  you  get  that,"  de 
manded  Elliott. 

Ce"cile,  wet  and  enthusiastic,  recounted  the 
battle,  and  then  Clifford  eulogized  her  powers 
with  the  fly,  and,  in  proof,  produced  from  his 


272 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


creel  a  defunct  chub,  which,  he  observed,  just 
missed  being  a  trout. 

They  were  all  very  merry  at  luncheon  and 
Hastings  was  voted  "  charming."  He  enjoyed 
it  immensly, — only  it  seemed  to  him  at  mo 
ments  that  flirtation  went  further  in  France 
than  in  Millbrook,  Connecticut,  and  he  thought 
that  Ce"cile  might  be  a  little  less  enthusiastic 
about  Clifford,  that  perhaps  it  would  be  quite 
as  well  it  Jacqueline  sat  further  away  from 
Rowden  and  that  possibly  Colette  could  have, 
for  a  moment,  at  least,  taken  her  eyes  from  El. 
liot's  face.  Still  he  enjoyed  it — except  when 
his  thoughts  drifted  to  Valentine  and  then  he 
felt  that  he  was  very  far  away  from  her.  La 
Roche  is  at  least  an  hour  and  a  half  from  Paris. 
It  is  also  true  that  he  felt  a  happiness,  a  quick 
heart-beat  when,  at  eight  o'clock  that  night  the 
train  which  bore  them  from  La  Roche  rolled 
into  the  Gare  St.  Lazare  and  he  was  once 
more  in  the  city  of  Valentine. 

"  Good-night,"  they  said,  pressing  around 
him.  "You  must  come  with  us  next  time  !" 

He  promised,  and  watched  them,  two  by  two, 
drift  into  the  darkening  city,  and  stood  so  long 
that,  when  again  he  raised  his  eyes,  the  vast 
Boulevard  was  twinkling  with  gas-jets  through 
which  the  electric  lights  stared  like  moons. 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.   273 


V. 

T  was  with  another  quick  heart-beat 
that  he  awoke  next  morning,  for  his 
first  thought  was  of  Valentine. 

The  sun  already  gilded  the  towers 
of  Notre  Dame,  the  clatter  of  workmen's 
sabots  awoke  sharp  echoes  in  the  street  below, 
and  across  the  way  a  blackbird  in  a  pink 
almond  tree  was  going  into  an  ecstasy  of  trills. 

He  determined  to  awake  Clifford  for  a  brisk 
walk  in  the  country,  hoping  later  to  beguile 
that  gentleman  into  the  American  church  for 
his  soul's  sake.  He  found  Alfred  the  gimlet- 
eyed,  washing  the  asphalt  walk  which  led  to 
the  studio. 

"  Monsieur  Elliott  ?  "  he  replied  to  the  per 
functory  inquiry,  "j'e  ne  sais  pas" 

"And  Monsieur  Clifford," — began  Hastings 
somewhat  astonished. 

11  Monsieur  Clifford,"  said  the  concierge 
with  fine  irony,  "  will  be  pleased  to  see  you,  as 
he  retired  early  ;  in  fact  he  has  just  come  in." 

Hastings  hesitated  while  the  concierge  pro 
nounced  a  fiery  eulogy  on  people  who  never 
stayed  out  all  night  and  then  came  battering 
at  the  lodge  gate  during  hours  which  even  a 
gendarme  held  sacred  to  sleep  He  also  dis 
coursed  eloquently  upon  the  beauties  of  tem 
perance,  and  took  an  ostentatious  draught  from 
the  fountain  in  the  court. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  will  come  in,"  said  Hast 
ings, 


2j  *  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

"Pardon,  Monsieur,"  growled  the  con* 
cierge,  "  perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  see  Mon. 
sieur  Clifford.  He  possibly  needs  aid.  Me 
he  drives  forth  with  hair-brushes  and  boots. 
It  is  a  mercy  if  he  has  not  set  fire  to  something 
with  his  candle." 

Hastings  hesitated  for  an  instant,  but  swal 
lowing  his  dislike  of  such  a  mission,  walked 
slowly  through  the  ivy-covered  alley  and 
across  the  inner  garden  to  the  studio.  He 
knocked.  Perfect  silence.  Then  he  knocked 
again  and  this  time  something  struck  the  door 
from  within  with  a  crash. 

"  That,"  said  the  concierge,  "was  a  boot." 
He  fitted  his  duplicate  key  into  the  lock  and 
ushered  Hastings  in.  Clifford,  in  disordered 
evening  dress,  sat  on  the  rug  in  the  middle  ot 
the  room.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  shoe,  and 
did  not  appear  astonished  to  see  Hastings. 

"  Good-morning,  do  you  use  Pears'  soap  ?  " 
he  inquired  with  a  vague  wave  of  his  hand 
and  a  vaguer  smile. 

Hastings'  heart  sank.  "  For  Heaven's 
sake,"  he  said,  "  Clifford,  goto  bed." 

"Not  while  that — that  Altred  pokes  his 
shaggy  head  in  here  an'  I  have  a  shoe  left." 

Hastings  blew  out  the  candle,  picked  up 
Clifford's  hat  and  cane,  and  said,  with  an  emo 
tion  he  could  not  conceal,  "  this  is  terrible, 
Clifford. — I — never  knew  you  did  this  sort  of 
thing." 

"Well,  I  do,"  said  Clifford. 

"Where  is  Elliott?" 

"  Ole  chap,"  returned  Clifford,  becoming 
maudlin,  "Providence  which  feeds — feeds — . 
er — sparrows  an'  that  sort  of  thing  watcheth 
over  the  intemperate  wanderer " 

"  Where  is  Elliott?  " 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.    2Jf 

But  Clifford  only  wagged  his  head  and 
waved  his  arm  about.  "  He's  out  there, — 
somewhere  about."  Then  suddenly  feeling'  a 
desire  to  see  his  missing  chum,  lifted  up  his 
voice  and  howled  for  him. 

Hastings,  thoroughly  shocked,  sat  down  on 
the  lounge  without  a  word.  Presently,  after 
shedding  several  scalding  tears,  Clifford  bright 
ened  up  and  rose  with  great  precaution. 

"  Ole  chap,"  he  observed,  "  do  you  want  to 
see  er — er  miracle  ?  Well,  here  goes.  I'm 
goin'  to  begin." 

He  paused,  beaming  at  vacancy. 

"  Er  miracle,"  he   repeated. 

Hastings  supposed  he  was  alluding  to  the 
miracle  of  his  keeping  his  balance  and  said 
nothing. 

"  I'm  goin*  to  bed,"  he  announced,  "  poor 
ole  Clifford's  goin'  to  bed,  an'  that's  er  mir 
acle  !  " 

And  he  did  with  a  nice  .calculation  of  dis 
tance  and  equilibrium  which  would  have  rung 
enthusiastic  yells  of  applause  from  Elliott  had 
he  been  there  to  assist  en  connaisscur.  But 
he  was  not.  He  had  not  yet  reached  the 
studio.  He  was  on  his  way,  however,  and 
smiled  with  magnificent  condescension  on 
Hastings,  who,  half  an  hour  later,  found  him 
reclining  upon  a  bench  in  the  Luxembourg. 
Ke  permitted  himself  to  be  aroused,  dusted 
and  escorted  to  the  gate.  Here,  however,  he 
refused  all  further  assistance,  and  bestowing 
a  patronizing  bow  upon  Hastings,  steered  a 
tolerably  true  course  for  the  rue  Vavin. 

Hastings  watched  him  out  of  sight,  and 
then  slowly  retraced  his  steps  toward  the 
fountain.  At  first  he  felt  gloomy  and  de 
pressed,  but  gradually  the  clear  air  of  the 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

morning  lifted  the  pressure  from  his  heart, 
and  he  sat  down  on  the  marble  seat  under 
the  shadow  of  the  winged  god. 

The  air  was  fresh  and  sweet  with  perfume 
from  the  orange  flowers.  Everywhere  pigeons 
were  bathing,  dashing  the  water  over  their 
iris-hued  breasts,  flashing  in  and  out  of  the 
spray  or  nestling  almost  to  the  neck  along  the 
polished  basin.  The  sparrows,  too,  were 
abroad  in  force,  soaking  their  dust-colored 
feathers  in  the  limpid  pool  and  chirping  with 
might  and  main.  Under  the  sycamores  which 
surround  the  duck  pond  opposite  the  fountain 
of  Marie  de  Medici,  the  water-fowl  cropped 
the  herbage,  or  waddled  in  rows  down  the 
bank  to  embark  on  some  solemn  aimless 
cruise. 

Butterflies,  somewhat  lame  from  a  chilly 
night's  repose  under  the  lilac  leaves,  crawled 
over  and  over  the  white  phlox,  or  took  a 
rheumatic  flight  toward  some  sun-warmed 
shrub.  The  bees  were  already  busy  among 
the  heliotrope  and  one  or  two  great  gray  flies 
with  brick-colored  eyes  sat  in  a  spot  of  sun 
light  beside  the  marble  seat,  or  chased  each 
other  about,  only  to  return  again  to  the  spot 
of  sunshine  and  rub  their  forelegs,  exulting. 

The  sentries  paced  briskly  before  the 
painted  boxes,  pausing  at  times  to  look  to 
ward  the  guard-house  for  their  relief. 

They  came  at  last,  with  a  shuffle  of  feet 
and  click  of  bayonets,  the  word  was  passed, 
the  relief  fell  out,  and  away  they  went, 
crunch,  crunch,  across  the  gravel. 

A  mellow  chime  floated  from  the  clock- 
tower  of  the  palace,  the  deep  bell  of  St.  Sul- 
pice,  echoed  the  stroke.  Hastings  sat  dream 
ing  in  the  shadow  of  the  god,  and  while  he 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS. 


277 


mused,  somebody  came  and  sat  down  beside 
him.  At  first  he  did  not  raise  his  head.  It 
was  only  when  she  spoke  that  he  sprang  up. 

"  You  !     At  this  hour  ?  " 

"I  was  restless,  I  could  not  sleep."  Then 
in  a  low  happy  voice — "  and  you  !  at  this 
hour  ?  " 

"  I — I  slept,  but  the  sun  awoke  me." 

"/  could  not  sleep,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes 
seemed,  for  a  moment,  toucned  with  an  inde 
finable  shadow.  Then,  smiling,  "  I  am  so 
glad — I  seemed  to  know  you  were  coming. 
Don't  laugh,  I  believe  in  dreams." 

"  Did  you  really  dream  of, — of  my  being 
here  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  was  awake  when  I  dreamed  it," 
she  admitted.  Then  for  a  time  they  were 
mute,  acknowledging  by  silence  the  happiness 
of  being  together.  And  after  all  their  silence 
was  eloquent,  for  faint  smiles,  and  glances 
born  of  their  thoughts,  crossed  and  recrossed, 
until  lips  moved  and  words  were  formed, 
which  seemed  almost  superfluous.  What 
they  said  was  not  very  profound.  Perhaps 
the  most  valuable  jewel  that  fell  from  Hast 
ings'  lips  bore  direct  reference  to  breakfast. 

"  I  have  not  yet  had  my  chocolate,"  she 
confessed,  "  but  what  a  material  man  you  are." 

"  Valentine,"  he  said  impulsively,  "  I  wish, — 
I  do  wish  that  you  would, — just  for  this  once, — 
give  me  the  whole  day, — just  for  this  once." 

"  Oh  dear,"  she  smiled,  "  not  only  material 
but  selfish." 

"  Not  selfish,  hungry,"  he  said,  looking  at 
at  her. 

"  A  cannibal  too,  oh  dear  !  " 

"  Will  you,  Valentine  ?  " 

"  But  my  chocolate " 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

"  Take  it  with  me." 

"  But  dejeuner " 

" Together,  at  St.  Cloud/' 

"  But  I  can't " 

11  Together, — all  day, — all  day  long  ;  wiH 
you  Valentine  ?  " 

She  was  silent. 

"  Only  for  this  once." 

Again  that  indefinable  shadow  fell  across 
her  eyes,  and  when  it  was  gone  she  sighed. 
«'  Yes, — together,  only  for  this  once." 

"  All  day  ?  "  he  said,  doubting  his  happi 
ness. 

"  All  day,"  she  smiled,  "  and  oh,  I  am  so 
hungry." 

He  laughed,  enchanted. 

"What  a  material  young  lady  it  is.H 

On  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel  there  is  a 
Cre"merie  painted  white  and  blue  outside,  and 
neat  and  clean  as  a  whistle  inside.  The 
auburn-haired  young  woman  who  speaks 
French  like  a  native,  and  rejoices  in  the  name 
of  Murphy,  smiled  at  them  as  they  entered, 
and  tossing  a  fresh  napkin  over  the  zinc 
t$te-a-t£te  table,  whisked  before  them  two 
cups  of  chocolate  and  a  basket  full  of  crisp, 
fresh  croissons. 

The  primrose-colored  pats  of  butter  each 
stamped  with  a  shamrock  in  relief,  seemed 
saturated  with  the  fragrance  of  Normandy 
pastures. 

"  How  delicious,"  they  said  in  the  same 
breath,  and  then  laughed  at  the  coincidence. 

"With  but  a  single  thought,"  he  began. 

"How  absurd,"  she  cried  with  cheeks  all 
rosy,  "I'm  thinking  I'd  like  a  croisson." 

"So  am  I,"  he  replied  triumphant,  "that 
proves  it." 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS, 


279- 


Then  they  had  a  quarrel  ;  she  accusing 
him  of  behavior  unworthy  of  a  child  in  arms, 
and  he  denying  it,  and  bringing  counter 
charges,  until  Mademoiselle  Murphy  laughed 
in  sympathy,  and  the  last  croisson  was  eaten 
under  a  flag  of  truce.  Then  they  rose,  and 
she  took  his  arm  with  a  bright  nod  to  Mile. 
Murphy,  who  cried  them  a  merry  :  "  Bon 'jour, 
Madam!  bonjour,  Monsieur/"  and  watched 
them  hail  a  passing  cab  and  drive  away. 
Dieu !  qu'il  est  beau,"  she  sighed,  adding 
after  a  moment,  "  Do  they  be  married,  I  dun- 
no, — mafoi  Us  ont  bicn  I' air." 

The  cab  swung  around  the  rue  de  Medici, 
turned  into  the  rue  de  Vaugirard,  followed  it 
to  where  it  crosses  the  rue  de  Rennes,  and 
taking  that  noisy  thoroughfare,  drew  up  be 
fore  the  Gare  Montparnasse.  They  were  just 
in  time  for  a  train  and  scampered  up  the 
stairway  and  out  to  the  cars  as  the  last  note 
from  the  starting  gong  rang  through  the 
arched  station.  The  guard  slammed  the 
door  of  their  compartment,  a  whistle  sounded, 
answered  by  a  screech  from  the  locomotive, 
and  the  long  train  glided  from  the  station, 
faster,  faster,  and  sped  out  into  the  morning, 
sunshine.  The  summer  wind  blew  in  their 
faces  from  the  open  window,  and  sent  the  soft 
hair  dancing  on  the  girl's  forehead. 

"  We  have  the  compartment  to  ourselves," 
said  Hastings. 

She  leaned  against  the  cushioned  window- 
seat,  her  eyes  bright  and  wide  open,  her  lips 
parted.  The  wind  lifted  her  hat,  and  fluttered 
the  ribbons  under  her  chin.  With  a  quick 
movement  she  untied  them  and  drawing  a 
long  hat  pin  from  her  hat,  laid  it  down  on 
the  seat  beside  her.  The  train  was  flying. 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

The  color  surged  in  her  cheeks  and  with 
each  quick-drawn  breath,  her  breast  rose  and 
fell  under  the  cluster  of  lilies  at  her  throat. 
Trees,  houses,  ponds,  danced  past,  cut  by  a 
mist  of  telegraph  poles. 

"  Faster  !  faster  !  "  she  cried. 

His  eyes  never  left  her,  but  hers,  wide  open 
and  blue  as  the  summer  sky,  seemed  fixed 
on  something  far  ahead, — something  which 
came  no  nearer,  but  fled  before  them  as  they 
fled. 

Was  it  the  horizon,  cut  now  by  the  grim 
fortress  on  the  hill,  now  by  the  cross  of  a 
country  chapel  ?  Was  it  the  summer  moon, 
ghost-like,  slipping  through  the  vaguer  blue 
above  ? 

"  Faster  !  faster  !"  she  cried. 

Her  parted  lips  burned  scarlet. 

The  car  shook  and  shivered  and  the  fields 
streamed  by  like  an  emerald  torrent.  He 
caught  the  excitement  and  his  face  glowed. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  and  with  an  unconscious 
movement  caught  his  hand,  drawing  him  to 
the  window  beside  her.  "  Look  !  lean  out 
with  me  ! " 

He  only  saw  her  lips  move  ;  her  voice  was 
drowned  in  the  roar  of  a  trestle,  but  his  hand 
closed  in  hers  and  he  clung  to  the  sill.  The 
wind  whistled  in  their  ears.  "Not  so  far 
out,  Valentine,  take  care  !  "  he  gasped. 

Below,  through  the  ties  of  the  trestle,  a 
broad  river  flashed  into  view  and  out  again, 
as  the  train  thundered  along  a  tunnel,  and 
away  once  more  through  the  freshet  of  green 
fields.  The  wind  roared  about  them.  The 
girl  was  leaning  far  out  from  the  window, 
and  he  caught  her  by  the  waist,  crying,  "  Not 
too  far  !  "  but  she  only  murmured,  4<  Faster! 


STREET  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  FIELDS.    28l 

faster  !  away  out  of  the  city,  out  of  the  land, 
faster,  faster  !  away  out  of  the  world  !  " 

"  What  are  you  saying  all  to  yourself,"  he 
said,  but  his  voice  was  broken,  and  the  wind 
whirled  it  back  into  his  throat. 

She  heard  him,  and,  turning  from  the 
window  looked  down  at  his  arm  about  her. 
Then  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  The  car 
shook  and  the  windows  rattled.  They  were 
dashing  through  a  forest  now,  and  the  sun 
swept  the  dewy  branches  with  running  flashes 
of  fire.  He  looked  into  her  troubled  eyes  ;  he 
drew7  her  to  him  and  kissed  the  half-parted 
lips,  and  she  cried  out,  a  bitter,  hopeless  cry, 
•< — Not  that — not  that  !  " 

But  he  held  her  close  and  strong,  whisper 
ing  words  of  honest  love  and  passion,  and 
when  she  sobbed — "  Not  that — not  that — I 
have  promised  !  You  must — you  must  know 
— I  am — not — worthy —  In  the  purity  of 

his  own  heart  her  words  were,  to  him,  mean 
ingless  then,  meaningless  forever  after.  Pres 
ently  her  voice  ceased,  and  her  head  rested 
on  his  breast.  He  leaned  against  the  window, 
his  ears  swept  by  the  furious  wind,  his  heart 
in  a  joyous  tumult.  The  forest  was  passed, 
and  the  sun  slipped  from  behind  the  trees, 
flooding  the  earth  again  with  brightness. 
She  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  out  into  the 
world  from  the  window.  Then  she  began  to 
speak,  but  her  voice  was  faint  and  he  bent 
his  head  close  to  hers  and  listened.  "  I 
cannot  turn  from  you ;  I  am  too  weak  You 
were  long  ago  my  master — master  of  my  heart 
and  soul.  I  have  broken  my  word  to  one 
who  trusted  me,  but  I  have  told  you  all  ; — 
what  matters  the  rest  ?  "  He  smiled  at  her 
innocence  and  she  worshipped  his.  She 


2g2  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

spoke  again  :  «•  Take  me  or  cast  me  away  ;— 
what  matters  it  ?  Now  with  a  word  you  can 
kill  me,  and  it  might  be  easier  to  die  than  to 
look  upon  happiness  as  great  as  mine." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  ;  "  Hush,  what  are 
you  saying  ?  Look, — look  out  at  the  sunlight, 
the  meadows  and  the  streams.  We  shall  be 
very  happy  in  so  bright  a  world." 

She  turned  to  the  sunlight.  From  the 
window,  the  world  below  seemed  very  fair  to 
her. 

Trembling  with  happiness,  she  sighed  :  "  Is 
this  the  world  ?  Then  I  have  never  known 
it." 

"  Nor  have  I,  God  forgive  me,"  he  mur- 
inured. 

Perhaps  it  was  our  gentle  Lady  of  the 
Fields  who  forgave  them  both. 


RUE  BARRfiE. 

'For  let  Philosopher  and  Doctor  preach 
Of  what  they  will  and  what  they  will  not,— «M 
Is  but  one  link  in  an  eternal  chain 
That  none  can  clip  nor  break  nor  ovcr-roack.'* 


RUE 

*  Crimson  nor  yellow  roses  nor 
The  savour  of  the  mounting  sea 
Are  worth  the  perfume  I  adore 
That  clings  to  thee." 

"  The  languid-headed  lilies  tire, 
The  changeless  waters  weary  me  ; 
I  ache  with  passionate  desire 
Of  thine  and  thee."  ^ 

44  There  are  but  these  things  in  the  world— 
Thy  mouth  of  fire, 

Thy  breasts,  thy  hands,  thy  hair  upcurled 
And  my  desire." 

NE   morning    at  Julian's,  a    student 
said     to     Selby  ;    "  that     is  Foxhall 
Clifford,"  pointing  with  his  brushes 
at  a  young  man  who  sat  before  an 
easel,  doing  nothing. 

Selby,  shy  and  nervous,  walked  over  and 
began  :  "  My  name  is  Selby, — I  have  just 
arrived  in  Paris,  and  bring  a  letter  of  intro 
duction — "  His  voice  was  lost  in  the  crash  of 
«  falling  easel,  the  owner  of  which  promptly 
assaulted  his  neighbor,  and  for  a  time  the 
noise  of  battle  rolled  through  the  studios  of 
MM.  Boulanger  and  Lefebvre,  presently 
subsiding  into  a  scuffle  on  the  stairs  outside. 
Selby,  apprehensive  as  to  his  own  reception  in 
the  studio,  looked  at  Clifford,  who  sat  serenely 
watching  the  fight. 

"  It's  a  little  noisy  here,"  said  Clifford,  "  but 
you  will  like  the  fellows  when  you  know 
them."  His  unaffected  manner  delighted 
Selby.  Then  with  a  simplicity  that  won  his 

285 


286  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

heart,  he  presented  him  to  half  a  dozen 
students  of  as  many  nationalities.  Some  were 
cordial,  all  were  polite.  Even  the  majestic 
creature  who  held  the  position  of  Massier, 
unbent  enough  to  say  :  ••  My  friend,  when  a 
man  speaks  French  as  well  as  you  do,  and  is 
also  a  friend  of  Monsieur  Clifford,  he  will 
have  no  trouble  in  this  studio.  You  expect, 
of  course,  to  fill  the  stove  until  the  next  new 
man  comes  ?  " 

"Of  course." 

"  And  you  don't  mind  chaff  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  Selby,  who  hated  it. 

Clifford,  much  amused,  put  on  his  hat, 
saying-,  "  You  must  expect  lots  of  it  at  first." 

Selby  placed  his  own  hat  on  his  head  and 
followed  him  to  the  door. 

As  they  passed  the  model  stand  there  was  a 
furious  cry  of  "  Chapeau  !  Chapeau  !  "  and  a 
student  sprang  from  his  easel  menacing  Selby, 
who  reddened  but  looked  at  Clifford. 

"Take  off  your  hat  for  them,"  said  the  lat 
ter,  laughing. 

A  little  embarrassed,  he  turned  and  saluted 
the  studio. 

"  Et  moi  ?  "  cried  the  model. 

"You  are  charming,"  replied  Selby,  aston 
ished  at  his  own  audacity,  but  the  studio  rose 
as  one  man,  shouting  :  "  He  has  done  well  ! 
he's  all  right !  "  while  the  model,  laughing, 
kissed  her  hand  to  him  and  cried  :  "  A  demain 
beau  jeune  homme  !  " 

All  that  week  Selby  worked  at  the  studio 
unmolested.  The  French  students  christened 
him  "  1'Enfant  Prodigue,"  which  was  freely 
translated,  "  The  Prodigious  Infant,"  The  Kid," 
"  Kid  Selby,"  and  •«  Kidby."  But  the  disease 
soon  ran  its  course  from  "  Kidby,"  to  "  Kid- 


RUE  BARREE.  287 

ney,"  and  then  naturally  to  "  Tidbits  "  where 
it  was  arrested  by  Clifford's  authority  and 
ultimately  relapsed  to  "  Kid." 

Wednesday  came,  and  with  it  M.  Boulanger. 
For  three  hours  the  students  writhed  under 
his  biting  sarcasms, — among  the  others  Clif 
ford,  who  was  informed  that  he  knew  even 
less  about  a  work  of  art  than  he  did  about  the 
art  of  work.  Selby  was  more  fortunate.  The 
professor  examined  his  drawing  in  silence, 
looked  at  him  sharply,  and  passed  on  with  a 
noncommittal  gesture.  He  presently  de 
parted  arm  in  arm  with  Bouguereau,  to  the 
relief  of  Clifford  who  was  then  at  liberty  to 
jam  his  hat  on  his  head  and  depart. 

The  next  day,  he  did  not  appear,  and  Selby, 
who  had  counted  on  seeing  him  at  the  studio, 
a  thing  which  he  learned  later  it  was  vanity  to 
count  on,  wandered  back  to  the  Latin  Quarter 
alone. 

Paris  was  still  strange  and  new  to  him. 
He  was  vaguely  troubled  by  its  splendor.  No 
tender  memories  stirred  his  American  bosom 
at  the  Place  du  Chatelet,  nor  even  by  Notre 
Dame.  The  Palais  de  Justice  with  its  clock 
and  turrets  and  stalking  sentinels  in  blue  and 
vermilion,  the  Place  St.  Michel  with  its  jum 
ble  of  omnibuses  and  ugly  water-spitting 
griffins,  the  hill  of  the  Boulevard  St.  Michel, 
the  tooting  trams,  the  policemen  dawdling  two 
by  two,  and  the  table-lined  terraces  of  the 
Cafe  Vachette,  were  nothing  to  him,  as  yet, 
nor  did  he  even  know,  when  he  stepped  from 
the  stones  of  the  Place  St.  Michel  to  the  as 
phalt  of  the  Boulevard,  that  he  had  crossed  the 
frontier  and  entered  the  student  zone, — the 
famous  Latin  Quarter. 

A  cabman  hailed  him  as  "  bourgeois,"  and 


288  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

urged  the  superiority  of  driving  over  walking1. 
A  gamin,  with  an  appearance  of  great  con 
cern,  requested  the  latest  telegraphic  news 
from  London,  and  then,  standing  on  his  head, 
invited  Selby  to  feats  of  strength.  A  pretty 
girl  gave  him  a  glance  from  a  pair  of  violet 
eyes.  He  did  not  see  her,  but  she,  catching 
her  own  reflection  in  a  window,  wondered  at 
the  color  burning  in  her  cheeks.  Turning  to 
resume  her  course,  she  met  Foxhall  Clifford, 
and  hurried  on.  Clifford,  open-mouthed,  fol 
lowed  her  with  his  eyes  ;  then  he  looked  after 
Selby,  who  had  turned  into  the  Boulevard  St. 
Germain  toward  the  rue  de  Seine.  Then  he 
examined  himself  in  the  shop  window.  The 
result  seemed  to  be  unsatisfactory. 

"  I'm  not  a  beauty,"  he  mused,  "  but  neither 
am  I  a  hobgoblin.  What  does  she  mean  by 
blushing  at  Selby  ?  I  never  before  saw  her 
look  at  a  fellow  in  my  life, — neither  has  any 
one  in  the  Quarter.  Anyway,  I  can  swear 
she  never  looks  at  me,  and  goodness  knows  I 
have  done  all  that  respectful  adoration  can 
do." 

He  sighed,  and  murmuring  a  prophecy  con 
cerning  the  salvation  of  his  immortal  soul 
swung  into  that  graceful  lounge  which  at  all 
times  characterized  Clifford.  With  no  appar 
ent  exertion,  he  overtook  Selby  at  the  corner, 
and  together  they  crossed  the  sunlit  Boulevard 
and  sat  down  under  the  awning  of  the  Cafe"  du 
Cercle.  Clifford  bowed  to  everybody  on  the 
terrace,  saying,  "  You  shall  meet  them  all 
later,  but  now  let  me  present  you  to  twro  of  the 
sights  of  Paris,  Mr.  Richard  Elliott  and  Mr. 
Stanley  Rowden." 

The  "  sights  "  looked  amiable,  and  took 
vermouth. 


RUE  BARREE.  289 

"You  cut  the  studio  to-day,"  said  Elliott, 
suddenly  turning  on  Clifford  who  avoided  his 
eyes. 

"  To  commune  with  nature  ?  "  observed 
Rowden. 

"What's  her  name  this  time?"  asked 
Elliott,  and  Rowden  answered  promptly ; 
"  Name,  Yvette  ;  nationality,  Breton " 

"  Wrong,"  replied  Clifford  blandly,  "  its 
Rue  Barree." 

The  subject  changed  instantly,  and  Selby 
listened  in  surprise  to  names  which  were  new 
to  him,  and  eulogies  on  the  latest  Prix  de  Rome 
winner.  He  was  delighted  to  hear  opinions 
boldly  expressed  and  points  honestly  debated, 
although  the  vehicle  was  mostly  slang,  both 
English  and  French.  He  longed  for  the  time 
when  he  too  should  be  plunged  into  the  strife 
for  fame. 

The  bells  of  St.  Shilpice  struck  the  hour,  and 
the  Palace  of  the  Luxembourg  answered  chime 
on  chime.  With  a  glance  at  the  sun,  dipping 
low  in  the  golden  dust  behind  the  Palais  Bour 
bon,  they  rose,  and  turning  to  the  east, 
crossed  the  Boulevard  St.  Germain  and  saun 
tered  toward  the  £cole  de  Medecine.  At  the 
corner  a  girl  passed  them,  walking  hurriedly. 
Clifford  smirked,  Elliott  and  Rowden  were 
agitated,  but  they  all  bowed,  and,  without 
raising  her  eyes,  she  returned  their  salute. 
But  Selby,  who  had  lagged  behind,  fascinated 
by  some  gay  shop  window,  looked  up  to  meet 
two  of  the  bluest  eyes  he  had  ever  seen. 
The  eyes  were  dropped  in  an  instant,  and 
the  young  fellow  hastened  to  overtake  the 
others, 

"By  Jove,"  he  said,  "do  you  fellows  know 
I  have  just  seen  the  prettiest  girl "  An  ex- 


2 QO  THR  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

clamation  broke  from  the  trio,  gloomy,  fore 
boding,  like  the  chorus  in  a  Greek  play. 

"  Rue  Barrel  !  " 

"  What !  "  cried  Selby,  bewildered. 

The  only  answer  was  a  vague  gesture  from 
Clifford. 

Two  hours  later,  during  dinner,  Clifford 
turned  to  Selby  and  said,  "You  want  to  ask 
me  something  ;  I  can  tell  by  the  way  you  fid 
get  about." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  he  said,  innocently  enough ; 
"  it's  about  that  girl.  Who  is  she  ?  " 

In  Rowden's  smile  there  was  pity,  in  Elli 
ott's,  bitterness. 

"  Her  name,"  said  Clifford  solemnly,  "  is  un 
known  to  any  one,  at  least,"  he  added  with 
much  conscientiousness,  "as  far  as  I  can 
team.  Every  fellow  in  the  Quarter  bows  to 
her  and  she  returns  the  salute  gravely,  but  no 
man  has  ever  been  known  to  obtain  more  than 
that.  Her  profession,  judging  from  her  music- 
roll,  is  that  of  a  pianist.  Her  residence  is  in 
a  small  and  humble  street  which  is  kept  in  a 
perpetual  process  of  repair  by  the  city  authori 
ties,  and  from  the  black  letters  painted  on  the 
barrier  which  defends  the  street  from  traffic, 
she  has  taken  the  name  by  which  we  know 
her, — Rue  Barr6e.  Mr.  Rowden,  in  his  im 
perfect  knowledge  of  the  French  tongue,  called 
our  attention  to  it  as  Roo  Barry — " 

"  I  didn't,"  said  Rowden  hotly. 

"  And  Roo  Barry  or  Rue  Barre'e,  is  to-day 
an  object  of  adoration  to  every  rapin  in  the 
Quarter " 

"We  are  not  rapins,"  corrected  Elliott. 

"  /  am  not,"  returned  Clifford,  "  and  I  beg  to 
call  to  your  attention,  Selby,  that  these  two 
gentlemen  have  at  various  and  apparently 


RUE  BARREE.  2Q1 

unfortunate  moments,  offered  to  lay  down 
life  and  limb  at  the  feet  of  Rue  Barrel.  The 
lady  possesses  a  chilling  smile  which  she  uses 
on  such  occasions  and,"  here  he  became 
gloomily  impressive,  "  I  have  been  forced  to 
believe  that  neither  the  scholarly  grace  of  my 
friend  Elliott  nor  the  buxom  beauty  of  my 
friend  Rowden  have  touched  that  heart  of 
ice." 

Elliott  and  Rowden,  boiling  with  indigna 
tion,  cried  out,  "  And  you  !  " 

"I,"  said  Clifford  blandly,  "do  fear  to  tread 
where  you  rush  in." 


202  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


II. 

WENTY-FOUR  hours  later  Selby 
had  completely  forgotten  Rue  Barre'e. 
During  the  week  he  worked  with 
might  and  main  at  the  studio,  and 
Saturday  night  found  him  so  tired  that  he  went 
to  bed  before  dinner  and  had  a  nightmare 
about  a  river  of  yellow  ochre  in  which  he  was 
drowning.  Sunday  morning,  apropos  of  noth 
ing  at  all,  he  thought  of  Rue  Barre'e  and  ten 
seconds  afterwards  he  saw  her.  It  was  at  the 
flower  market  on  the  marble  bridge.  She  was 
examining  a  pot  of  pansies.  The  gardener 
had  evidently  thrown  heart  and  soul  into  the 
transaction,  but  Rue  Barre'e  shook  her  head. 

It  is  a  question  whether  Selby  would  have 
stopped  then  and  there  to  inspect  a  cabbage- 
rose  had  not  Clifford  unwound  for  him  the 
yarn  of  the  previous  Tuesday.  It  is  possible 
that  his  curiosity  was  piqued,  for  with  the  ex 
ception  of  a  hen-turkey,  a  boy  of  nineteen  is  the 
most  openly  curious  biped  alive.  From  twenty 
until  death  he  tries  to  conceal  it.  But,  to  be 
fair  to  Selby,  it  is  also  true  that  the  market 
was  attractive.  Under  a  cloudless  sky  the 
flowers  were  packed  and  heaped  along  the 
marble  bridge  to  the  parapet.  The  air  was 
soft,  the  sun  spun  a  shadowy  lacework  among 
the  palms  and  glowed  in  the  hearts  of  a  thou 
sand  roses.  Spring  had  come, — was  in  full 
tide.  The  watering  carts  and  sprinklers, 
spread  freshness  over  the  Boulevard,  the  spar 
rows  had  become  vulgarly  obtrusive  and  the 
credulous  Seine  angler  anxiously  followed  his 


RUE  BARREE.  293 

gaudy  quill,  floating  among  the  soapsuds  of 
the  lavoirs.  The  white-spiked  chestnuts  clad 
in  tender  green,  vibrated  with  the  hum  of  bees. 
Shoddy  butterflies  flaunted  their  winter  rags 
among  the  heliotrope.  There  was  a  smell  of 
fresh  earth  in  the  air,  an  echo  of  the  woodland 
brook  in  the  ripple  of  the  Seine,  and  swallows 
soared  and  skimmed  among  the  anchored 
river  craft.  Somewhere  in  a  window,  a  caged 
bird  \vas  singing  its  heart  out  to  the  sky. 

Selby  looked  at  the  cabbage-rose  and  then 
at  the  sky.  Something  in  the  song  of  the 
caged  bird  may  have  moved  him,  or  perhaps  it 
was  that  dangerous  sweetness  in  the  air  of 
May. 

At  first  he  was  hardly  conscious  that  he  had 
stopped,  then  he  was  scarcely  conscious  why 
he  had  stopped,  then  he  thought  he  would 
move  on,  then  he  thought  he  wouldn't,  then  he 
looked  at  Rue  Barre"e. 

The  gardener  said  ;  "  Mademoiselle,  this  is 
undoubtedly  a  fine  pot  of  pansies." 

Rue  Barrel  shook  her  head. 

The  gardener  smiled.  She  evidently  did  not 
want  the  pansies.  She  had  bought  many  pots 
of  pansies  there,  two  or  three  every  spring,  and 
never  argued.  What  did  she  want  then  ?  The 
pansies  were  evidently  a  feeler  toward  a  more 
important  transaction.  The  gardener  rubbed 
his  hands  and  gazed  about  him. 

"  These  tulips  are  magnificent,"  he  observed, 

•«  and  these  hyacinths "  He  fell  into  a  trance 

at  the  mere  sight  of  the  scented  thickets. 

"  That,"  murmured  Rue,  pointing  to  a 
splendid  rose-bush  with  her  furled  parasol,  but 
in  spite  of  her,  her  voice  trembled  a  little. 
Selby  noticed  it,  more  shame  to  him  that  he 
was  listening,  and  the  gardener  noticed  it,  and, 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

burying  his  nose  in  the  roses,  scented  a  bar 
gain.  Still,  to  do  him  justice,  he  did  not  add 
a  centime  to  the  honest  value  of  the  plant,  for 
after  all,  Rue  was  probably  poor,  and  any  one 
Could  see  she  was  charming. 

"  Fifty  francs,  Mademoiselle." 

The  gardener's  tone  was  grave.  Rue  felt 
that  argument  would  be  wasted.  They  both 
stood  silent  for  a  moment.  The  gardener  did 
not  eulogize  his  prize, — the  rose-tree  was 
gorgeous  and  any  one  could  see  it. 

"  I  will  take  the  pansies,"  said  the  girl,  and 
drew  two  francs  from  a  worn  purse.  Then 
she  looked  up.  A  teardrop  stood  in  the  way 
refracting  the  light  like  a  diamond,  but  as  it 
rolled  into  a  little  corner  by  her  nose,  a  vision 
of  Selby  replaced  it,  and  when  a  brush  of  the 
handkerchief  had  cleared  the  startled  blue 
eyes,  Selby  himself  appeared,  very  much  em 
barrassed.  He  instantly  looked  up  into  the 
sky,  apparently  devoured  with  a  thirst  for 
astronomical  research,  and  as  he  continued  his 
investigations  for  fully  five  minutes,  the  gar 
dener  looked  up  too  and  so  did  a  policeman. 
Then  Selby  looked  at  the  tips  of  his  boots,  the 
gardener  looked  at  him  and  the  policeman 
slouched  on.  Rue  Barre"e  had  been  gone  some 
time. 

"What,"  said  the  gardener,  "  may  I  offer 
Monsieur  ?  " 

Selby  never  knew  why,  but  he  suddenly  be 
gan  to  buy  flowers.  The  gardener  was  elec 
trified.  Never  before  had  he  sold  so  many 
flowers,  never  at  such  satisfying  prices,  and 
never,  never  with  such  absolute  unanimity  of 
opinion  with  a  customer.  But  he  missed  the 
bargaining,  the  arguing,  the  calling  of  Heaven 
to  witness.  The  transaction  lacked  spice. 


RUE  BARREE.  2Q5 

•«  These  tulips  are  magnificent !  ** 

*«  They  are  !  "  cried  Selby  warmly. 

«« But  alas,  they  are  dear." 

«« I  will  take  them." 

««  Dieu  !  "  murmured  the  gardener  in  a  per 
spiration,  "  he's  madder  than  most  English 
men." 

•«  This  cactus " 

«'  Is  gorgeous  J  " 

„  Alas " 

"  Send  it  with  the  rest." 

The  gardener  braced  himself  against  the 
river  wall. 

"  That  splendid  rose-bush,"  he  began  faintly. 

"That  is  a  beauty.  I  believe  it  is  fifty 

francs "  He  stopped,  very  red.  The  gar- 

dener  relished  his  contusion.  Then  a  sudden 
cool  self-possession  took  the  place  of  his  momen 
tary  confusion  and  he  held  the  gardener  with 
his  eye,  and  bullied  him. 

"  I'll  take  that  bush.  Why  did  not  the  young 
lady  buy  it  ?  " 

"  Mademoiselle  is  not  wealthy." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Dame,  I  sell  her  many  pansies  ;  pansies 
are  not  expensive." 

"  Those  are  the  pansies  she  bought  ?  " 

"  These  Monsieur,  the  blue  and  gold." 

41  Then  you  intend  to  send  them  to  her  ?  ** 

•'  At  midday  after  the  market." 

"  Take  this  rose-bush  with  them,  and  "— 
here  he  glared  at  the  gardener,  "  don't  you 
dare  say  from  whom  they  came."  The  gar 
dener's  eyes  were  like  saucers,  but  Selby,  calm 
and  victorious,  said  :  «•  Send  the  others  to  the 
Hdtel  du  Se"nat,  7  rue  de  Tournon.  I  will 
leave  directions  with  the  concierge." 

Then  he  buttoned  his  glove  with  much  dig- 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

nity  and  stalked  off,  but  when  well  around  the 
corner  and  hidden  from  the  gardener's  view, 
the  conviction  that  he  was  an  idiot  came  home 
to  him  in  a  furious  blush.  Ten  minutes  later 
he  sat  in  his  room  in  the  Hotel  du  Senat  re 
peating  with  an  imbecile  smile  :  "  What  an  ass 
I  am,  what  an  ass  !  " 

An  hour  later  found  him  in  the  same  chair, 
in  the  same  position,  his  hat  and  gloves  still 
on,  his  stick  in  his  hand,  but  he  was  silent, 
apparently  lost  in  contemplation  of  his  boot 
toes,  and  his  smile  was  less  imbecile  and  even 
a  bit  retrospective. 


RUE  BARR&E. 


111. 


five  o'clock  that  afternoon,  the 
little  sad-eyed  woman  who  fills  the 
position  of  concierge  at  the  Hotel  du 
Se"nat,  held  up  her  hands  in  amaze 
ment  to  see  a  wagon-load  of  flower-bearing 
shrubs  draw  up  before  the  doorway.  She 
called  Joseph,  the  intemperate  gargon  who, 
while  calculating  the  value  of  the  flowers  in 
petit  verres,  gloomily  disclaimed  any  knowl 
edge  as  to  their  destination. 

"Voyons"  said  the  little  concierge,  "  cher- 
chons  lafemme!" 

"  You  ?  "  he  suggested. 

The  little  woman  stood  a  moment  pensive 
and  then  sighed.  Joseph  caressed  his  nose, 
a  nose  which  for  gaudiness  could  vie  with 
any  floral  display. 

Then  the  gardener  came  in,  hat  in  hand, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  Selby  stood  in  the 
middle  of  his  room,  his  coat  off,  his  shirt 
sleeves  rolled  up.  The  chamber  originally 
contained,  besides  the  furniture,  about  two 
square  feet  of  walking  room,  and  now  this 
was  occupied  by  a  cactus.  The  bed  groaned 
under  crates  of  pansies,  lilies  and  heliotrope, 
the  lounge  was  covered  with  hyacinths  and 
tulips,  and  the  washstand  supported  a  species 
of  young  tree  warranted  to  bear  flowers  at 
some  time  or  other. 

Clifford  came  in  a  little  later,  fell  over  a 
box  of  sweet  peas,  swore  a  little,  apologized, 
and  then  as  the  lull  splendor  of  the  floral  fSte 
burst  upon  him,  sat  down  in  astonishment 


2^8  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

upon  a  geranium.  The  geranium  was  a 
wreck,  but  Selby  said,  "  don't  mind,"  and 
glared  at  the  cactus. 

"Are  you  going  to  give  a  ball?"  demanded 
Clifford. 

««  N — no, — I'm  very  fond  of  flowers,"  said 
Selby,  but  the  statement  lacked  enthusiasm. 

»'  I  should  imagine  so."  Then,  after  a 
silence,  "  That's  a  fine  cactus." 

Selby  contemplated  the  cactus,  touched  it 
with  the  air  of  a  connaisseur,  and  pricked  his 
thumb. 

Clifford  poked  a  pansy  with  his  stick.  Then 
Joseph  came  in  with  the  bill,  announcing  the 
sum  total  in  a  loud  voice,  partly  to  impress 
Clifford,  partly  to  intimidate  Selby  into  dis 
gorging  a  pourboire  which  he  would  share 
if  he  chose,  with  the  gardener.  Clifford  tried 
to  pretend  that  he  had  not  heard,  while  Selby 
paid  bill  and  tribute  without  a  murmur. 
Then  he  lounged  back  into  the  room  with  an 
attempt  at  indifference  which  failed  entirely 
when  he  tore  his  trousers  on  the  cactus. 

Clifford  made  some  commonplace  remark, 
lighted  a  cigarette  and  looked  out  of  the  win 
dow  to  give  Selby  a  chance.  Selby  tried  to 
take  it,  but  getting  as  far  as — "  Yes,  spring  is 
here  at  last,"  froze  solid.  He  looked  at  the 
back  of  Clifford's  head.  It  expressed  volumes. 
Those  little  perked  up  ears  seemed  tingling 
with  suppressed  glee.  He  made  a  desperate 
effort  to  master  the  situation,  and  jumped  up 
to  reach  for  some  Russian  cigarettes  as  an 
incentive  to  conversation,  but  was  foiled  by 
the  cactus  to  whom  again  he  fell  a  prey. 
The  last  straw  was  added. 

"Damn  the  cactus."  This  observation  was 
wrung  from  Selby  against  his  will, — against 


RUE  BARREE. 

his  own  instinct  of  self-preservation,  but  the 
thorns  on  the  cactus  were  long  and  sharp  and 
at  their  repeated  prick,  his  pent-up  wrath 
escaped.  It  was  too  late  now  ;  it  was  done, 
and  Clifford  had  wheeled  around. 

"  See  here,  Selby,  why  the  deuce  did  you 
buy  those  flowers  ?  " 

"  I'm  fond  of  them,"  said  Selby. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  them  ? 
You  can't  sleep  here." 

"  I  could,  if  you'd  help  me  take  the  pansies 
off  the  bed." 

"  Where  can  you  put  them  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  I  give  them  to  the  concierge  ?  ** 

As  soon  as  he  said  it  he  regretted  it.  What 
in  Heaven's  name  would  Clifford  think  of  him  ! 
He  had  heard  the  amount  of  the  bill.  Would 
he  believe  that  he  had  invested  in  these  lux 
uries  as  a  timid  declaration  to  his  concierge  ? 
And  would  the  Latin  Quarter  comment  upon 
it  in  their  own  brutal  fashion  ?  He  dreaded 
ridicule,  and  he  knew  Clifford's  reputation. 

Then  somebody  knocked. 

Selby  looked  at  Clifford  with  a  hunted 
expression  which  touched  that  young  man's 
heart.  It  wras  a  confession  and  at  the  same 
time  a  supplication.  Clifford  jumped  up, 
threaded  his  way  through  the  floral  labyrinth, 
and  putting  an  eye  to  the  crack  of  the  door, 
said,  "  Who  the  devil  is  it  ?  " 

This  graceful  style  of  reception  is  indigen 
ous  to  the  Quarter. 

"  It's  Elliott,"  he  said  looking  back,  ••  and 
Rowden,  too,  and  their  bulldogs."  Then  he 
addressed  them  through  the  crack. 

"  Sit  down  on  the  stairs  ;  Selby  and  I  are 
coming  out  directly." 

Discretion  is  a  virtue.     The  Latin  Quarter 


3°° 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


possesses  few,  and  discretion  seldom  figures  on 
the  list.  They  sat  down  and  began  to  whistle. 

Presently  Rowden  called  out,  "  I  smell 
flowers.  They  feast  within  !  " 

"  You  ought  to  know  Selby  better  than 
that,"  growled  Clifford  behind  the  door,  while 
the  other  hurriedly  exchanged  his  torn  trous 
ers  for  others. 

"  We  know  Selby,"  said  Elliott  with  em 
phasis. 

"  Yes,"  said  Rowden,  "  he  gives  receptions 
with  floral  decorations  and  invites  Clifford, 
while  we  sit  on  the  stairs." 

"  Yes,  while  the  youth  and  beauty  of  the 
Quarter  revel,"  suggested  Rowden  ;  then, 
with  sudden  misgiving,  "  Is  Odette  there  ?  " 

"  See  here,"  demanded  Elliott,  "  is  Colette 
there  ?  " 

Then  he  raised  his  voice  in  a  plaintive 
howl,  "  Are  you  there,  Colette,  while  I'm 
kicking  my  heels  on  these  tiles  ?  " 

"  Clifford  is  capable  of  anything,"  said 
Rowden  ;  "  his  nature  is  soured  since  Rua 
Barre"e  sat  on  him." 

Elliott  raised  his  voice  ;  "  I  say,  you  fel 
lows,  we  saw  some  flowers  carried  into  Rue 
Barre*e's  house  at  noon." 

"  Posies  and  roses,"  specified  Rowden. 

"  Probably  for  her,"  added  Elliott,  caress 
ing  his  bulldog. 

Clifford  turned  with  sudden  suspicion  upon 
Selby.  The  latter  hummed  a  tune,  selected  a 
pair  of  gloves  and,  choosing  a  dozen  cigarettes, 
placed  them  in  a  case.  Then  walking  over 
to  the  cactus,  he  deliberately  detached  a  blos 
som,  drew  it  through  his  buttonhole  and  pick 
ing  up  hat  and  stick,  smiled  upon  Clifford,  at 
which  the  latter  was  mightily  troubled. 


RUE  BARREE. 


IV. 

ONDAY  morning  at  Julian's,  students 
fought  for  places  ;  students  with  prior 
claims  drove  away  others  who  had 
been  anxiously  squatting  on  coveted 
tabourets  since  the  door  was  opened  in  hopes 
of  appropriating  them  at  roll-call  ;  students 
squabbled  over  palettes,  brushes,  portfolios, 
or  rent  the  air  with  demands  for  Ciceri  and 
bread.  The  former,  a  dirty  ex-model,  who 
had  in  palmier  days  posed  as  Judas,  now 
dispensed  stale  bread  at  one  sou  and  made 
enough  to  keep  himself  in  cigarettes.  Mon 
sieur  Julian  walked  in,  smiled  a  fatherly  smile 
and  walked  out.  His  disappearance  was  fol 
lowed  by  the  apparition  of  the  clerk,  a  foxy 
creature  who  flitted  through  the  battling 
hordes  in  search  of  prey. 

Three  men  who  had  not  paid  dues  were 
caught  and  summoned.  A  fourth  was 
scented,  followed,  outflanked,  his  retreat  to 
wards  the  door  cut  off,  and  finally  captured 
behind  the  stove.  About  that  time  the  rev 
olution  assuming  an  acute  form,  howls  rose 
for  "  Jules  !  " 

Jules  came,  umpired  two  fights  with  a  sad 
resignation  in  his  big  brown  eyes,  shook  hands 
with  everybody  and  melted  away  in  the  throng, 
leaving  an  atmosphere  of  peace  and  good  will. 
The  lions  sat  down  with  the  lambs,  the  mas- 
siers  marked  the  best  places  for  themselves 
and  friends,  and,  mounting  the  model  stands, 
opened  the  roll-calls. 


202  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

The  word  was  passed,  "  They  begin  with  C 
this  week." 

They  did. 

"  Clisson  !  " 

Clisson  jumped  like  a  flash  and  marked  his 
name  on  the  floor  in  chalk  before  a  front  seat. 

"  Caron  !  " 

Caron  galloped  away  to  secure  his  place. 
Bang  !  went  an  easel.  "  Nom  de  Dieu  !  "  in 

French, — "  Where  in  h 1  are  you  goin' !  " 

in  English.  Crash !  a  paint  box  fell  with 
brushes  and  all  on  board.  "Dieu  de  Dieu 

de "  spat  !  A  blow,  a  short  rush,  a  clinch 

and  scuffle,  and  the  voice  of  the  massier,  stern 
and  reproachful  : 

"  Cochon  ! " 

Then  the  roll-call  was  resumed. 

"  Clifford  ! " 

The  massier  paused  and  looked  up,  one  fin 
ger  between  the  leaves  of  the  ledger. 

"  Clifford  !  " 

Clifford  was  not  there.  He  was  about  three 
miles  away  in  a  direct  line  and  every  instant 
increased  the  distance.  Not  that  he  was 
walking  fast, — on  the  contrary,  he  was  stroll 
ing  with  that  leisurely  gait  peculiar  to  him 
self.  Elliott  was  beside  him  and  two  bulldogs 
covered  the  rear.  Elliott  was  reading  the  "  Gil 
Bias  "  from  which  he  seemed  to  extract  amuse 
ment,  but  deeming  boisterous  mirth  unsuitable 
to  Clifford's  state  of  mind,  subdued  his  amuse 
ment  to  a  series  of  discreet  smiles.  The  latter, 
moodily  aware  of  this,  said  nothing,  but  lead 
ing  the  way  into  the  Luxembourg  Gardens  in 
stalled  himself  upon  a  bench  by  the  northern 
terrace  and  surveyed  the  landscape  with  dis 
favor.  Elliott,  according  to  the  Luxembourg 
regulations,  tied  the  twd  dogs  and  then  with 


RUE  BARKER 

an  interrogative  glance  toward  his  friend,  re 
sumed  the  "  Gil  Bias  "  and  the  discreet  smiles. 

The  day  was  perfect.  The  sun  hung  over 
Notre  Dame,  setting  the  city  in  a  glitter.  The 
tender  foliage  of  the  chestnuts  cast  a  shadow 
over  the  terrace  and  flecked  the  paths  and 
walks  with  tracery  so  blue  that  Clifford  might 
here  have  found  encouragement  for  his  violent 
"  impressions "  had  he  but  looked  ;  but  as 
usual  in  this  period  of  his  career,  his  thoughts 
were  anywhere  except  in  his  profession. 
Around  about,  the  sparrows  quarrelled  and 
chattered  their  courtship  songs,  the  big  rosy 
pigeons  sailed  from  tree  to  tree,  the  flies 
whirled  in  the  sunbeams  and  the  flowers  ex 
haled  a  thousand  perfumes  which  stirred  Clif 
ford  with  languorous  wistfulness.  Under  this 
influence  he  spoke. 

"  Elliott,  you  are  a  true  friend ' 

"  You  make  me  ill,"  replied  the  latter, 
folding  his  paper.  "  It's  just  as  I  thought, — 
you  are  tagging  after  some  new  petticoat 
again.  And,"  he  continued  wrathfully,  "  if 
this  is  what  you've  kept  me  away  from  Julian's 
for, — if  it's  to  fill  me  up  with  the  perfections 
of  some  little  idiot " 

11  Not  idiot,"  remonstrated  Clifford  gently. 

"See  here,"  cried  Elliott,  "have  you  the 
nerve  to  try  to  tell  me  that  you  are  in  love 
again  ?  " 

"  Again  ?  " 

"  Yes,  again  and  again  and  again  and — by 
George,  have  you  ?  " 

"  This,"  observed  Clifford  sadly,  "  is  serious." 

For  a  moment  Elliott  would  have  laid  hands 
on  him,  then  he  laughed  from  sheer  helpless 
ness.  "  Oh,  go  on,  go  on  ;  let's  see,  there's 


3°4 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 


Cle"mence  and  Marie  Tellec  and  Cosette  and 
Fifine,  Colette,  Marie  Verdier " 

"  All  of  whom  are  charming,  most  charm, 
ing,  but  I  never  was  serious — 

"  So  help. me  Moses,"  said  Elliott,  solemnly, 
"  each  and  every  one  of  those  named  have 
separately  and  in  turn  torn  your  heart  with 
anguish  and  have  also  made  me  lose  my  place 
at  Julian's  in  this  same  manner  ;  each  and 
every  one,  separately  and  in  turn.  Do  you 
deny  it  ?  " 

"  What  you  say  may  be  founded  on  facts — 
in  a  way — but  give  me  the  credit  of  being 
faithful  to  one  at  a  time 

"  Until  the  next  came  along." 

"  But  this, — this  is  really  very  different. 
Elliott,  believe  me,  I  am  all  broken  up." 

Then  there  being  nothing  else  to  do,  Elliott 
gnashed  his  teeth  and  listened. 

"  It's — it's  Rue  Barre'e." 

"  Well,"  observed  Elliott,  with  scorn,  "  if 
you  are  moping  and  moaning  over  that  girl, — - 
the  girl  who  has  given  you  and  myself  every 
reason  to  wish  that  the  ground  would  open 
and  engulf  us, — well,  go  on  !  " 

"  I'm  going  on, — I  don't  care  ;  timidity  has 
fled- 

"Yes,  your  native  timidity." 

"  I'm  desperate,  Elliott.  Am  I  in  love  ? 

Never,  never  did  I  feel  so  d n  miserable. 

I  can't  sleep  ;  honestly,  I'm  incapable  of  eating 
properly." 

"  Same  symptoms  noticed  in  the  case  ot 
Colette." 

"  Listen,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Hold  on  a  moment,  I  know  the  rest  by 
heart.  Now  let  me  ask  you  something.  Is  it 
your  belief  that  Rue  Barre"e  is  a  pure  girl  ?  " 


RUE  BARREE. 

"  Yes,"  said  Clifford,  turning  red. 

"  Do  you  love  her, — not  as  you  dangle  and 
tiptoe  after  every  pretty  inanity — I  mean,  do 
you  honestly  love  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other  doggedly,  I  would " 

"  Hold  on  a  moment  ;  would  you  marry 
her?" 

'Clifford    turned    scarlet.      "Yes,"    he   mut 
tered. 

"  Pleasant  news  for  your  family,"  growled 
Elliott  in  suppressed  fury.  '  Dear  father,  I 
have  just  married  a  charming  gnsette  whom 
I'm  sure  you'll  welcome  with  open  arms,  in 
company  with  her  mother,  a  most  estimable 
and  cleanly  washlady.'  Good  heavens  !  This 
seems  to  have  gone  a  little  further  than  the 
rest.  Thank  your  stars,  young  man,  that  my 
head  is  level  enough  for  us  both.  Still,  in 
this  case.  I  have  no  fear.  Rue  Barree  sat  on 
your  aspirations  in  a  manner  unmistakably 
final." 

"  Rue  Barre"e,"  began  Clifford,  drawing 
himself  up,  but  he  suddenly  ceased,  for  there 
where  the  dappled  sunlight  glowed  in  spots  of 
gold,  along  the  sun-flecked  path,  tripped  Rue 
Barree.  Her  gown  was  spotless,  and  her  big 
straw  hat,  tipped  a  little  from  the  white  fore 
head,  threw  a  shadow  across  her  eyes. 

Elliott  stood  up  and  bowed.  Clifford  re 
moved  his  head  covering  with  an  air  so  plain 
tive,  so  appealing,  so  utterly  humble  that  Rue 
Barree  smiled. 

The  smile  was  delicious,  and  when  Clifford, 
incapable  of  sustaining  himself  on  his  legs 
from  sheer  astonishment,  toppled  slightly,  she 
smiled  again  in  spite  of  herself.  A  few 
moments  later  she  took  a  chair  on  the  terrace 
and  drawing  a  book  from  her  music  roll, 

20 


306  THE  KIN&  W  YELLOW. 

turned  the  pages,  found  the  place,  and  then 
placing  it  open  downwards  in  her  lap,  sighed 
a  little,  smiled  a  little,  and  looked  out  over  the 
city.  She  had  entirely  forgotten  Foxhall 
Clifford. 

After  a  while  she  took  up  her  book  again, 
but  instead  ot  reading  began  to  adjust  a  rose 
in  her  corsage.  The  rose  wras  big  and  red. 
It  glowed  like  fire  there  over  her  heart  and 
like  fire  it  warmed  her  heart  now  fluttering 
under  the  silken  petals.  Rue  Barre"e  sighed 
again.  She  was  very  happy.  The  sky  was 
so  blue,  the  air  so  soft  and  perfumed,  the  sun 
shine  so  caressing,  and  her  heart  sang  within 
her,  sang  to  the  rose  in  her  breast.  This  is 
what  it  sang  :  "  Out  of  the  throng  of  passers 
by,  out  of  the  world  of  yesterday,  out  of  the 
millions  passing,  one  has  turned  aside  to 
me." 

So  her  heart  sang  under  his  rose  on  her 
breast.  Then  two  big  mouse-colored  pigeons 
came  whistling  by  and  alighted  on  the  terrace 
where  they  bowed  and  strutted  and  bobbed 
and  turned  until  Rue  Barre"e  laughed  in  de 
light,  and  looking  up  beheld  Clifford  before 
her.  His  hat  was  in  his  hand  and  his  face 
was  wreathed  in  a  series  of  appealing  smiles 
which  would  have  touched  the  heart  of  a 
Bengal  tiger. 

For  an  instant  Rue  Barrel  frowned,  then 
she  looked  curiously  at  Clifford,  then  when 
she  saw  the  resemblance  between  his  bows 
and  the  bobbing  pigeons,  in  spite  of  herself, 
her  lips  parted  in  the  most  bewitching  laugh. 
Was  this  Rue  Barree  ?  So  changed,  so 
changed  that  she  did  not  know  herself;  but 
oh  !  that  song  in  her  heart  which  drowned  all 
else,  which  trembled  on  her  lips,  struggling 


RUE  BAR  REE 

for  utterance,  which  rippled  forth  in  a  laugh 
at  nothing, — at  a  strutting  pigeon, — and  Mr. 
Clifford. 

•*  •*  •*  *  •* 

"  And  you  think  because  I  return  the 
salute  of  the  students  in  the  Quarter,  that  you 
may  be  received  in  particular  as  a  friend  ?  I 
do  not  know  you  Monsieur,  but  vanity  is  man's 
other  name; — be  content,  Monsieur  Vanity,  I 
shall  be  punctilious — oh  most  punctilious  in 
returning  your  salute." 

"  But  I  beg — I  implore  you  to  let  me  render 
you  that  homage  which  has  so  long " 

"Oh  dear,  I  don't  care  for  homage." 

"  Let  me  only  be  permitted  to  speak  to  you 
now  and  then, — occasionally  —  very  occa 
sionally." 

"  And  if  you,  why  not  another  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all, — I  will  be  discretion  itself." 

"  Discretion — why  ?  " 

Her  eyes  were  very  clear  and  Clifford 
winced  for  a  moment,  but  only  for  a  moment. 
Then  the  devil  of  recklessness  seizing  him  he 
sat  down  and  offered  himself,  soul  and  body, 
goods  and  chattels.  And  all  the  time  he 
knew  he  was  a  fool  and  that  infatuation  is 
not  love,  and  that  each  word  he  uttered  bound 
him  in  honor  from  which  there  was  no  escape. 
And  all  the  time  Elliott  was  scowling  down 
on  the  fountain  plaza  and  savagely  checking 
both  bulldogs  from  their  desire  to  rush  to 
Clifford's  rescue, — for  even  they  felt  there  was 
something  wrong,  as  Elliott  stormed  within 
himself  and  growled  maledictions. 

When  Clifford  finished,  he  finished  in  a 
glow  of  excitement,  but  Rue  BarreVs  response 
was  long  in  coming  and  his  ardor  cooled 
while  the  situation  slowly  assumed  its  just 


THE  KIN&  IN  YELLOW. 

proportions.  Then  regret  began  to  creep  in, 
but  he  put  that  aside  and  broke  out  again  in 
protestations.  At  the  first  word  Rue  Barre"e 
checked  him. 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  said,  speaking  very 
gravely.  "  No  man  has  ever  before  offered 
me  marriage."  She  turned  and  looked  out 
over  the  city.  After  a  while  she  spoke 
again.  "  You  offer  me  a  great  deal.  I  am 
alone,  I  have  nothing,  I  am  nothing."  She 
turned  again  and  looked  at  Paris,  brilliant, 
fair,  in  the  sunshine  of  a  perfect  day.  He 
followed  her  eyes. 

"Oh,"  she  murmured,  "it  is  hard, — hard  to 
work  always — always  alone  with  never  a  friend 
you  can  have  in  honor,  and  the  love  that  is 
offered  means  the  streets,  the  boulevard — when 
passion  is  dead.  I  know  it, — we  know  it, — we 
others  who  have  nothing, — have  no  one,  and 
who  give  ourselves,  unquestioning — when  we 
love, — yes,  unquestioning — heart  and  soul, 
knowing  the  end." 

She  touched  the  rose  at  her  breast.  For  a 
moment  she  seemed  to  forget  him,  then 
quietly — "  I  thank  you,  I  am  very  grateful." 
She  opened  the  book  and,  plucking  a  petal 
from  the  rose  dropped  it  between  the  leaves. 
Then  looking  up  she  said  gently,  "  I  cannot 
accept" 


RUE  BARREE.  ,O(1 


V. 

T  took  Clifford  a  month  to  entirely 
recover,  although  at  the  end  of  the 
first  week  he  was  pronounced  con 
valescent  by  Elliott,  who  was  an 
authority,  and  his  convalescence  was 
aided  by  the  cordiality  with  which  Rue  Barree 
acknowledged  his  solemn  salutes.  Forty 
times  a  day  he  blessed  Rue  Barree  for  her 
refusal  and  thanked  his  lucky  stars,  and  at 
the  same  time,  oh  wondrous  heart  of  ours  ! — • 
he  suffered  the  tortures  of  the  blighted. 

Elliott  was  annoyed,  partly  by  Clifford's 
reticence,  partly  by  the  unexplainable  thaw  in 
the  frigidity  of  Rue  Barree.  At  their  frequent 
encounters,  when  she,  tripping  along  the  rue 
de  Seine,  with  music-roll  and  big  straw  hat 
would  pass  Clifford  and  his  familiars  steering 
an  easterly  course  to  the  Cafe"  Vachette,  and 
at  the  respectful  uncovering  of  the  band, 
would  color  and  smile  at  Clifford,  Elliott's 
slumbering  suspicions  awoke.  But  he  never 
found  out  anything  and  finally  gave  it  up  as 
beyond  his  comprehension,  merely  qualifying 
Clifford  as  an  idiot  and  reserving  his  opinioiv 
of  Rue  Barree.  And  all  this  time  Selby  was 
jealous.  At  first  he  refused  to  acknowledge 
it  to  himself  and  cut  the  studio  for  a  day  in 
the  country,  but  the  woods  and  fields  of 
course  aggravated  his  case,  and  the  brooks 
babbled  of  Rue  Barre"e  and  the  mowers  calling 
to  each  other  across  the  meadow  ended  in  a 
quavering  "  Rue  Bar-r6e-e  !  "  That  day  spent 


3IO  THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

in  the  country  made  him  angry  for  a  week, 
and  he  worked  sulkily  at  Julian's,  all  the  time 
tormented  by  a  desire  to  know  where  Clifford 
was  and  what  he  might  be  doing.  This  cul 
minated  in  an  erratic  stroll  on  Sunday  which 
ended  at  the  flower-market  on  the  Pont  au 
Change,  began  again,  was  gloomily  extended 
to  the  morgue,  and  again  ended  at  the  marble 
bridge.  It  would  never  do  and  Selby  felt  it, 
so  he  went  to  see  Clifford  who  was  conva 
lescing  on  mint  juleps  in  his  garden. 

They  sat  down  together  and  discussed 
morals  and  human  happiness,  and  each  found 
the  other  most  entertaining,  only  Selby  failed 
to  pump  Clifford  to  the  other's  unfeigned 
amusement.  But  the  juleps  spread  balm  on 
the  sting  of  jealousy,  and  trickled  hope  to  the 
blighted,  and  when  Selby  said  he  must  go, 
Clifford  went  too,  and  when  Selby,  not  to  be 
outdone,  insisted  on  accompanying  Clifford 
back  to  his  door,  Clifford  determined  to  see 
Selby  back  half  way,  and  then  finding  it  hard 
to  part  they  decided  to  dine  together  and 
"flit."  To  flit,  a  verb  applied  to  Clifford's 
nocturnal  prowls,  expressed,  perhaps,  as  well 
as  anything,  the  gayety  proposed.  Dinner  was 
ordered  at  Mignon's  and  while  Selby  inter 
viewed  the  chef,  Clifford  kept  a  fatherly  eye 
on  the  butler.  The  dinner  was  a  success,  or 
was  of  the  sort  generally  termed  a  success. 
Toward  the  dessert  Selby  heard  some  one 
say  as  at  a  great  distance,  "  Kid  Selby,  drunk 
as  a  lord." 

A  group  of  men  passed  near  them ;  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  shook  hands  and 
laughed  a  great  deal,  and  that  everybody  was 
very  witty.  There  was  Clifford  opposite  swear 
ing  undying  confidence  in  his  chum  Selby, 


R  UE  BA  RREE.  ^  I  J 

and  there  seemed  to  be  others  there,  either 
seated  beside  them  or  continually  passing 
with  the  swish  of  skirts  on  the  polished  floor. 
The  perfume  of  roses,  the  rustle  of  fans,  the 
touch  of  rounded  arms  and  the  laughter  grew 
vaguer  and  vaguer.  The  room  seemed  en 
veloped  in  mist.  Then,  all  in  a  moment  each 
object  stood  out  painfully  distinct,  only  forms 
and  visages  were  distorted  and  voices  pierc 
ing.  He  drew  himself  up,  calm,  grave,  for 
the  moment  master  of  himself,  but  very  drunk. 
He  knew  he  was  drunk,  and  was  as  guarded 
and  alert,  as  keenly  suspicious  of  himself  as 
he  would  have  been  of  a  thief  at  his  elbow. 
His  self-command  enabled  Clifford  to  hold  his 
head  safely  under  some  running  water,  and 
repair  to  the  street  considerably  the  worse  for 
wear,  but  never  suspecting  that  his  companion 
Was  drunk.  For  a  time  he  kept  his  self- 
command.  His  face  was  only  a  bit  paler,  a 
bit  tighter  than  usual  ;  he  was  only  a  trifle 
slower  and  more  fastidious  in  his  speech.  It 
was  midnight  when  he  left  Clifford  peacefully 
slumbering  in  somebody's  arm-chair,  with  a 
long  suede  glove  dangling  in  his  hand  and  a 
plumy  boa  t\visted  about  his  neck  to  protect 
his  throat  from  drafts.  He  walked  through 
the  hall  and  down  the  stairs,  and  found  him 
self  on  the  sidewalk  in  a  quarter  he  did  not 
know.  Mechanically  he  looked  up  at  the 
name  of  the  street.  The  name  was  not  fa 
miliar.  He  turned  and  steered  his  course  to 
ward  some  lights  clustered  at  the  end  of  the 
street.  They  proved  farther  away  than  he 
had  anticipated  and  after  a  long  quest  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  his  eyes  had  been 
mysteriously  removed  from  their  proper 
places  and  had  been  reset  on  either  side  ot 


2 1 2  THE  KING  IN  YELLO Wm 

his  head  like  those  of  a  bird.  It  grieved  him  to 
think  of  the  inconvenience  this  transformation 
might  occasion  him.  and  he  attempted  to  cock 
up  his  head,  hen-like,  to  test  the  mobility  of 
his  neck.  Then  an  immense  despair  stole 
over  him, — tears  gathered  in  the  tear  ducts, 
his  heart  melted,  and  he  collided  with  a  tree. 
This  shocked  him  into  comprehension ;  he 
stifled  the  violent  tenderness  in  his  breast, 
picked  up  his  hat  and  moved  on  more  briskly. 
His  mouth  was  white  and  drawn,  his  teeth 
tightly  clinched.  He  held  his  course  pretty 
well  and  strayed  but  little,  and  after  an  ap 
parently  interminable  length  of  time  found 
himself  passing  a  line  of  cabs.  The  brilliant 
lamps,  red,  yellow  and  green  annoyed  him, 
and  he  felt  it  might  be  pleasant  to  demolish 
them  with  his  cane,  but  mastering  this  im 
pulse  he  passed  on.  Later  an  idea  struck 
him  that  it  would  save  fatigue  to  take  a  cab, 
and  he  started  back  with  that  intention  but 
the  cabs  seemed  already  so  far  away  and  the 
lanterns  were  so  bright  and  confusing  that  he 
gave  it  up,  and  pulling  himself  together  looked 
around. 

A  shadow,  a  mass,  huge,  undefined,  rose  to 
his  right.  He  recognized  the  Arc  de  Triomphe 
and  gravely  shook  his  cane  at  it.  Its  size 
annoyed  him.  He  felt  it  was  too  big.  Then 
he  heard  something  fall  clattering  to  the  pave 
ment  and  thought  probably  it  was  his  cane 
but  it  didn't  much  matter.  When  he  had 
mastered  himself  and  regained  control  of  his 
right  leg  which  betrayed  symptoms  of  insub 
ordination,  he  found  himself  traversing  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde  at  a  pace  which  threat 
ened  to  land  him  at  the  Madeleine.  This 
would  never  do.  He  turned  sharply  to  the 


RUE  BARREE,  313 

right  and  crossing  the  bridge  passed  the 
Palais  Bourbon  at  a  trot  and  wheeled  into  the 
Boulevard  St.  Germain.  He  got  on  well 
enough  although  the  size  of  the  War  Office 
struck  him  as  a  personal  insult,  and  he  missed 
his  cane  which  it  would  have  been  pleasant  to 
drag  along  the  iron  railings  as  he  passed.  It 
occurred  to  him,  however,  to  substitute  his  hat, 
but  when  he  found  it,  he  forgot  what  he  wanted 
it  for  and  replaced  it  upon  his  head  with 
gravity.  Then  he  was  obliged  to  battle  with 
a  violent  inclination  to  sit  down  and  weep. 
This  lasted  until  he  came  to  the  rue  de 
Rennes,  but  there  he  became  absorbed  in 
contemplating  the  dragon  on  the  balcony 
overhanging  the  Cour  de  Dragon,  and  time 
slipped  away  until  he  remembered  vaguely 
that  he  had  no  business  there,  and  marched 
off  again.  It  was  slow  work.  The  inclina 
tion  to  sit  down  and  weep  had  given  place  to 
a  desire  for  solitary  and  deep  reflection.  Here 
his  right  leg  forgot  its  obedience  and  attack 
ing  the  left,  outflanked  it  and  brought  him  up 
against  a  wooden  board  which  seemed  to  bar 
his  path.  He  tried  to  walk  around  it  but 
found  the  street  closed.  He  tried  to  push  it 
over,  and  found  he  couldn't.  Then  he  noticed 
a  red  lantern  standing  on  a  pile  of  paving 
stones  inside  the  barrier.  This  was  pleasant. 
How  was  he  to  get  home  if  the  boulevard 
was  blocked  ?  But  he  was  not  on  the  boule 
vard.  His  treacherous  right  leg  had  beguiled 
him  into  a  detour,  for  there,  behind  him  lay 
the  boulevard  with  its  endless  line  of  lamps, — • 
and  here,  what  was  this  narrow  dilapidated 
street  piled  up  with  earth  and  mortar  and 
heaps  of  stone  ?  He  looked  up.  Written  in 
staring  black  letters  on  the  barrier  was 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 
RUE  BARREE. 

fie  sat  down.  Two  policemen  whom  he 
knew  came  by  and  advised  him  to  get  up,  but 
he  argued  the  question  from  a  standpoint  of 
personal  taste  and  they  passed  on,  laughing. 
For  he  was  at  that  moment  absorbed  in  a 
problem.  It  was,  how  to  see  Rue  Barrel. 
She  was  somewhere  or  other  in  that  big  house 
with  the  iron  balconies,  and  the  door  was 
locked,  but  what  of  that  ?  The  simple  idea 
struck  him  to  shout  until  she  came.  This 
idea  was  replaced  by  another  equally  lucid, — 
to  hammer  on  the  door  until  she  came  ;  but 
finally  rejecting  both  of  these  as  too  uncer 
tain,  he  decided  to  climb  into  the  balcony, 
and  opening  a  window  politely  inquire  for 
Rue  Barree.  There  wis  but  one  lighted  win 
dow  in  the  house  that  he  could  see.  It  was 
on  the  second  floor,  and  toward  this  he  cast 
his  eyes.  Then  mounting  the  wooden  barrier 
and  clambering  over  the  piles  of  stones,  he 
reached  the  sidewalk  and  looked  up  at  the 
fagade  for  a  foothold.  It  seemed  impossible. 
But  a  sudden  fury  seized  him,  a  blind,  drunken 
obstinacy,  and  the  blood  rushed  to  his  head, 
leaping,  beating  in  his  ears  like  the  dull 
thunder  of  an  ocean.  He  set  his  teeth,  and 
springing  at  a  window-sill,  dragged  him 
self  up  and  hung  to  the  iron  bars.  Then 
reason  fled  ;  there  surged  in  his  brain  the 
sound  of  many  voices,  his  heart  leaped  up 
beating  a  mad  tattoo,  and  gripping  at  cornice 
and  ledge  he  worked  his  way  along  the  fagade, 
clung  to  pipes  and  shutters,  and  dragged 
himself  up,  over  and  into  the  balcony  by  the 
lighted  windowr.  His  hat  fell  off  and  rolled 
against  the  pane.  For  a  moment  he  leaned 


RUE  BARREE. 

breathless  against  the  railing, — then  the  win 
dow  was  slowly  opened  from  within. 

They  stared  at  each  other  for  some  time. 
Presently  the  girl  took  two  unsteady  steps  back 
into  the  room.  He  saw  her  face, — all  crim 
soned  now, — he  saw  her  sink  into  a  chair  by 
the  lamplit  table,  and  without  a  word  he  fol 
lowed  her  into  the  room,  closing  the  big  door- 
like  panes  behind  him.  Then  they  looked  at 
each  other  in  silence. 

The  room  was  small  and  white  ;  everything 
was  white  about  it, — the  curtained  bed,  the 
little  wash-stand  in  the  corner,  the  bare  walls, 
the  china  lamp, — and  his  own  face, — had  he 
known  it,  but  the  face  and  neck  of  Rue  were 
surging  in  the  color  that  dyed  the  blossoming 
rose-tree  there  on  the  hearth  beside  her.  It 
did  not  occur  to  him  to  speak.  She  seemed 
not  to  expect  it.  His  mind  was  struggling 
with  the  impressions  of  the  room.  The  white 
ness,  the  extreme  purity  of  everything  occupied 
him — began  to  trouble  him.  As  his  eye  be 
came  accustomed  to  the  light,  other  objects 
grew  from  the  surroundings  and  took  their 
places  in  the  circle  of  lamplight.  There  was 
a  piano  and  a  coal-scuttle  and  a  little  iron 
trunk  and  a  bath-tub.  Then  there  was  a  row 
of  wooden  pegs  against  the  door,  with  a  white 
chintz  curtain  covering  the  clothes  under 
neath.  On  the  bed  lay  an  umbrella,  and  a 
big  straw  hat,  and  on  the  table,  a  music-roll 
unfurled,  an  ink-stand,  and  sheets  of  ruled 
paper.  Behind  him  stood  a  wardrobe  faced 
with  a  mirror,  but  somehow  he  did  not  care  to 
see  his  own  face  just  then.  He  was  sobering. 

The  girl  sat  looking  at  him  without  a  word. 
Her  face  was  expressionless,  yet  the  lips  at 
times  trembled  almost  imperceptibly.  Her 


THE  KING  IN  YELLOW. 

eyes,  so  wonderfully  blue  in  the  daylight, 
seemed  dark  and  soft  as  velvet,  and  the  color 
on  her  neck  deepened  and  whitened  with 
every  breath.  She  seemed  smaller  and  more 
slender  than  when  he  had  seen  her  in  the 
street,  and  there  was  now  something  in  the 
curve  of  her  cheek  almost  infantine.  When 
at  last  he  turned  and  caught  his  own  reflec 
tion  in  the  mirror  behind  him,  a  shock  passed 
through  him  as  though  he  had  seen  a  shame 
ful  thing,  and  his  clouded  mind  and  his 
clouded  thoughts  grew  clearer.  For  a  mo 
ment  their  eyes  met,  then  his  sought  the  floor, 
his  lips  tightened,  and  the  struggle  within 
him  bowed  his  head  and  strained  every  nerve 
to  the  breaking.  And  now  it  was  over,  for 
the  voice  within  had  spoken.  He  listened, 
dully  interested  but  already  knowing  the  end, 
— indeed  it  little  mattered  ; — the  end  would 
always  be  the  same  for  him  ; — he  understood 
now, — always  the  same  for  him,  and  he  list 
ened,  dully  interested,  to  a  voice  which  grew 
within  him.  After  a  while  he  stood  up,  and 
she  rose  at  once,  one  small  hand  resting  on 
the  table.  Presently  he  opened  the  window, 
picked  up  his  hat,  and  shut  it  again.  Then 
he  went  over  to  the  rosebush  and  touched  the 
blossoms  with  his  face.  One  was  standing  in 
a  glass  of  water  on  the  table,  and  mechani 
cally  the  girl  drew  it  out,  pressed  it  with  her 
lips  and  laid  it  on  the  table  beside  him.  He 
took  it  without  a  word  and  crossing  the  room, 
opened  the  door.  The  landing  was  dark  and 
silent  but  the  girl  lifted  the  lamp  and  gliding 
past  him  slipped  down  the  polished  stairs  to 
the  hallway.  Then  unchaining  the  bolts,  she 
drew  open  the  iron  wicket. 

Through  this  he  passed  with  his  rose. 


•     •    _ 


GENERAL  LIBRARY    U.C.  BERKELEY 


